To Forgive a Stone Heart
by AngelinaWeasley1
Summary: Hermione's dedication to Harry is infallible but when does it become a detriment? How many times is too many times, and are excuses and forgiveness the same thing? [Harmony]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I eat up most types of Harmony fics, including stories where Harry is edgy, an asshole, bitter, malicious, or simply dark. This story features that kind of jaded Harry, **read: not nice** , so take this as a warning and please be aware before leaving upset reviews that he's OOC. The plot is H/Hr, of course, but it's a twisted H/Hr plot.

(Also, inspiration for this fic was garnered from 2 songs by Adele and Trey Songz, neither of which I own).

 **To Forgive a Stone Heart**

War changed people and Harry was no exception. It had been months since Voldemort's defeat, and Britain's wizarding world was in the beginning stages of mending and reshaping all that he had broken. While the impending tasks ahead were significant, the hope that existed alongside them was bright enough to light the way...

… everyone's way but Harry's, apparently. The magical society of which he was a part was entering a new era, mostly due to _his_ actions and sacrifices, but The Boy Who Lived seemed to be notably missing from the move forward.

It took some time for Britain to notice its savior had disappeared ( _forced_ savior) but Harry's loved ones (the ones whom were left, anyway) noticed sooner. They knew the war would continue to take its toll on him although it was over and he was out of survival mode, able to digest and process everything that had happened in the past few years; the war continued to take its toll on them as well so they understood. They understood Harry would be distant, angry, and emotionally fragile. They knew his infamous moods would be prominent. They expected it. They expected and understood.

But they had not expected Harry to fully close in on himself, for him to help with the extensive restoration of Hogwarts and then disappear. For him to steadily stop reaching out to people or responding to contact attempts. For him to become aggravated with their concern once they voiced it, for him to insist he did not need help and refuse it, usually accompanied by choice profanity.

They did not expect for Harry to neglect his duties as godfather, ignore career decisions, or lock himself away in Grimmauld Place for weeks at a time. His loved ones did not expect any of it and were hard pressed on how to rectify the situation. Their coaxing appeared to only encourage his alienation. Conversely, it did not stop them from trying, but it deteriorated to a point where he would only speak to his best friends (and typically in a vitriolic manner).

Ginny's last attempt at connecting with Harry was the official end of their relationship, although it had never truly restarted after Voldemort's fall. Ron and Hermione had no idea what happened between the red headed witch and Harry, but Ginny returned to the Burrow early one evening with tears in her eyes and every emotion conceivable on her countenance. She asserted that "Harry Potter is a sodding _bastard_ who can rot in that forsaken hell of a home, for all I care!" before hurrying to her room.

Two months later, Ron was the next to fold. While he did not condemn Harry as his sister had, he did come back one night defeated and halfway anguished. He reported to Hermione that he had stayed outside for over two hours, utilizing every possible way to gain access inside Grimmauld or get Harry to come outside, but their best friend had not even opened the door.

"It's been months, Hermione. _Months_ ," Ron told the tearful brunette, "We can't… we can't _make_ him. He's changed… and it feels like I've lost two brothers." He ended the conversation by kissing Hermione's forehead and wondering if this was how his relationship with Harry would truly come to a close, after the countless things they had been through.

Hermione understood Ron's quiet white flag. She postulated he probably felt like he had been neglecting his family's need to mourn Fred in order to chase Harry, and she understood that he was giving up to join his family in properly grieving one of their beloved. She believed Ron likely did not want to step away but saw no other option at the moment that would yield the result they so desired.

She also understood this left her alone. Alone to keep up the effort of not abandoning Harry (although he had seemingly abandoned the life and people he had known), and, while it was daunting knowing she was now doing this on her own without support, she would continue to try.

Hermione was determined if nothing else and she had never given up on Harry since the moment she met him.

She would lure him out of his hovel, she would get him to talk to her again. She would force him to connect once more and remind him that you did not willingly give up the people you love.

* * *

Hermione succeeded.

Her persistence paid off and Harry let her in. Literally and figuratively, he let her in.

She could not have pinpointed exactly how long it had been since she had forged ahead without Ron or even what part of the year it was, but it was a Wednesday- that she knew. It was a Wednesday when the door to Grimmauld Place creaked open and Harry stood on the other side, peering at her with a blank expression.

The witch froze when she met his gaze. She had been there for over half an hour with a plan to leave by the hour mark. Her immediate thought was that she had to tell Ron. They met at least once a week and he made sure to always ask how her attempts with Harry were going, so he had to know about this breakthrough, this damn near miracle.

Hermione's second thought was that she wanted to cry, and, indeed, she felt water rapidly fill her eyes and her lip begin to tremble. She had not seen her best friend- _this_ best friend- in months upon months, and now that she was, it was all too much. He had been behind a piece of wood this entire time, knowing they had been desperate to reach him.

How _could_ he?

Harry's expression changed when he noticed the impending onslaught of Hermione's tears. He furrowed his brow and frowned and, with the natural dexterity gifted to him, he reached out and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her into the darkened house with a slam of the door.

She had only been able to gasp, too stunned to say anything as he marched her to the kitchen. Harry's grip on her arm remained unrelenting and firm and his stormy countenance did not clear. He let go once they were fully inside the room; Hermione's arms went up around herself without delay but he did not appear to care as he sat down in the chair he had clearly occupied before answering her call. She glanced around the kitchen and saw that it was clean overall, something she would have not necessarily expected from someone whom had become a hermit. _Kreacher_ , the witch thought.

The only noticeable thing that stood out to her was the bottles of alcohol that sat on the table. There were a handful: most were empty but there was one with about half its contents left, and it sat next to a glass with a thin layer of liquid on the inside that indicated it had been used recently. Hermione's heart lurched.

"Harry-" she commenced in a strangled voice, still hugging herself.

His stony gaze landed on her and her voice died in her throat. She stared at him, wanting to cry again. There were differences in his appearance since she had last laid eyes on him (MONTHS ago). His hair was a bit longer and he had more facial hair than she had ever seen on him, but his eyes… oh, those eyes would never change.

"I've been thinking. That's why I let you in." Harry revealed after a prolonged bout of silence. (He sounded the same, at least).

"Thinking?" Hermione asked, sounding confused.

"Reminiscing." Harry clarified. His eyes were no longer on her.

Her breath hitched for some reason as watched him fiddle with something on the table. (Parchment- he was messing with parchment she had not yet noticed).

He let her in because he had been reminiscing...

"O-Oh," she uttered lamely, dissolving the quiet.

Harry gave a disinterested wave to the area in front of him before he gathered all the paper together and removed it from the table. Hermione understood he was inviting her to sit and so she did, unfolding her arms for the first time and pulling out the chair directly across from him. She dropped into it and continued gazing at him while he continued to not look at her. She had so many thoughts running through her brain right now that it felt a bit dizzying, and they were mostly questions.

Why now? Why let me in now? This can't be the first time you've reminisced in the _eons_ since you've spoken to any of us! Why have you disappeared? What did you say to Ginny? Do you even care how your absence has affected everyone, how you've hurt us? Why have you chosen to suffer alone? What the hell have you been _doing_ in here? Are you still the same person?

Hermione wanted to fire these off to him but she did not. Realistically, where would she even begin? There were so many feelings attached to these thoughts and, right now, they felt like they would threaten to consume her. Harry was sitting across from her like nothing had happened, like his absence had not been a significant rupture in their lives, and he was not even _looking_ at her. The tears returned and the witch's face scrunched up as she put a hand over her eyes, unable to stop some of the water from falling.

"You're a bastard," she attested in a shaky voice, repeating what Ginny had voiced about him God knew how long ago now.

If there had been one thing Harry would not have expected Hermione to say, that was it. The first meaningful thing she had said to him in far too long and it was to rebuke him. Her hand shielded her face so she did not see him stare sternly at her, his heart beating a tick faster. He watched her while she cried, quiet and shrewd during the couple minutes it took for it to subside.

"You _reminisce_ and everyone who cares about you goes absolutely spare for the last… _ugh_!I don't even know how long it's been! It's been _that_ long!" the brunette remarked, showing her first spark since being pulled into the house. Hermione removed her hand from her face and gazed at Harry, eyes red and moist but also angry.

"What is _wrong_ with you, Harry?! To just vanish, to not respond to _anyone_!," she half shouted, "Did you finally snap after finishing Voldemort like some people thought you would? Did you want to punish yourself for things that were not your fault? Did you think none of us would understand how terrifying and hollow things felt, even after he was gone!"

"No! I _knew_ you all wouldn't understand certain things!," the wizard retorted, his expression hard, "And I refusedto let wizarding Britain put me on their shoulders and parade me around like there weren't dead bodies under everyone's feet!"

"So your answer is to act like one of the dead? To just _leave_!" She screeched the last word, a flare of magic striking the air that Harry surely felt.

It calmed him, oddly.

"I didn't leave, Hermione. I'm right here. And I let you in. I let you in because I was reminiscing, like I told you," he informed her in a stoic tone. Her face contorted in pain and she shook her head.

"I let you in because I realized that, out of everyone, _you_ likely do understand." Harry said after a moment. Hermione took in a shuddering inhale and stared at him, eyes still wet.

"W-What?" she questioned.

"You understand me, Hermione. You always have. You're the only one who's ever seen me for me. The only one… and that includes _Dumbledore_ ," he mentioned, dragging the liquor bottle towards him, "It took me some time to remember that."

The witch watched Harry pour liquid into the glass and then bring it to his lips and take a long sip.

"You saw me and you never wanted anything from me other than to stay safe," he relayed, swirling the alcohol around in the glass and watching it, "That's all you wanted. And maybe that explains why you always gave me such bone crushing hugs." He smirked a bit and then met Hermione's addled but riveted gaze.

"Your hugs that would bowl me over nearly every time you gave them. It never changed, from first year on," Harry continued, "I don't remember you doing that much with Ron."

She broke eye contact and peered at the table instead, feeling her face heat up. For him to just mention Ron so casually!... it stirred something within her. Ron was his supposed _best friend_!

"Ron didn't have to face the same things as you, Harry, and I care about you terribly. What do you expect?"

Well, Harry had _not_ been expecting to let Hermione inside, to talk to her. But he really had been going through recollections (at least half of which included the young woman in front of him), and when he was alerted there was a presence outside his home and he checked, something inside him clicked when he realized it was her. She had attempted to get through to him countless times before, of course, but Harry supposed right timing and the liquor could have made him more sentimental, lowered his inhibitions and pushed him to grant her entry.

And some of these recollections involving Hermione… well, they had been more _charged_ than others, hadn't they?

He thought back to the not so distant past, recalled some of the thoughts and images the locket Horcrux had planted in his brain and then amplified at certain times. (Mostly once Ron left them to fend for themselves). Harry had never mentioned these musings to Ron and Hermione because they had primarily featured Hermione and had been decidedly illicit. The loss of clothing... tongues on skin and in mouths, sliding against each other… sweat… hard thrusting and involuntary whimpers.

And the locket had whispered to him that he could have it! Could have _her_ , if he wanted. He was Harry Potter, after all, and she would do anything for him. (She _owed_ him, the Horcrux insisted, after she had gotten his wand broken). And if she did not give herself willingly, he could convince her: convince her, or demand it, or give her an ultimatum, but he could have it.

Harry smiled wryly and peered at Hermione. He knew even then the torrid thoughts were inconceivable and not truly his own, but that had not stopped them from coming or stopped him from remembering.

Reminiscing, indeed.

"What? What is it?" the witch questioned, looking and sounding concerned. He shook his head.

"I know you care about me," Harry admitted, "And so did his Horcrux." The wizard took another long sip of alcohol.

"What do you mean?"

"You remember what it was like wearing that damned locket, the dark thoughts that it created."

"Of course I do. I'll never forget." Hermione quickly insisted.

"Well it manipulated that fact- that you care about me," he answered, "Some of the things it put in my head… about you."

It was silent while Harry continued drinking and the brunette appraised him. Her heart thumped a bit faster in her chest.

"What… what kind of things?" she questioned, much quieter than she had said her previous statements. The wizard chuckled.

"You're more than smart enough to guess what kind of things, Hermione."

Harry let his eyes intentionally rove over her form, doing it so slowly that even the dimmest person on Earth could have inferred what his look meant. He finished his liquor in a final swig and peered at her over the rim of the glass, smirking when he observed her stunned body language.

Hermione's thoughts raced and she could feel her face heating up again as she peered at him. She had not known this but of course she had not; the thoughts he referenced were not thoughts Harry would have openly told her or Ron about, were they? Well, the Harry she had once known would not have, but this Harry… she honestly did not know if he was the same person. In the short amount of time they had spoken, he already seemed notably different. It made Hermione want to both leave right away and stay as long as she could, just to see if she could draw him out of this hard shell.

The witch dropped her gaze and ran a hand through her tangled strands nervously. Perhaps he was just being suggestive as a shock factor, intent on making her uncomfortable as a defense mechanism or something.

"Have I upset you?" Harry wondered, continuing to appear amused.

" _That_ is obvious, but not because of lewd thoughts courtesy of Voldemort's Horcrux. It's more to do with Harry Potter's stupid decision to cut himself off from people who love him!" she replied with determination.

His entertained, smug expression dropped from his countenance and was replaced by a miniature scowl. He finally dropped his gaze and batted the glass around in a moody fashion.

"Well you're here, aren't you?" he grumbled.

Yes, Hermione was here, and she was going to be here- with him- until he decided she would not be.

Incidentally, that turned out to be for another hour. They remained in the kitchen the entire time and her visit ended when Harry suddenly declared that she "should probably get home." She heeded his dismissal without a fight but before she left Grimmauld she had a request.

"I'm going to come back. I want to come back. You have to let me in again," Hermione said rather desperately, looking into his green orbs, "You'll let me come back, won't you, Harry?"

The wizard stared at her for a full half a minute before giving a terse nod and closing the door.

* * *

Harry, indeed, allowed Hermione to return to his home after that. Numerous times, in fact.

The brunette regarded every visit with special care as she was unsure if the next one would happen due to Harry's fluctuating mood. She also informed Ron about her trips and the red head listened eagerly; he had been astounded when Hermione told him about the first trip to Grimmauld. When she suggested Ron reach out to their long time friend based on her success, he declined, stating he did not think the time was right just yet for his reintegration. The witch was disappointed but acquiesced, especially since Harry always seemed indifferent whenever she brought up Ron. Harry's apathy concerned her but she was afraid to insist he speak to the other wizard in case he cut off contact with her again as well.

So Hermione's visits continued and she was exceptionally grateful, and on certain trips she witnessed glimpses of the old Harry.

On one of these, now, regular visits, Harry inquired about her parents. She was deeply touched he had asked (a glimpse of old Harry) and gushed to him about her father and mother. Harry, accordingly, thought it only obvious to want an update about the Grangers as he had been vital in their reconnection with their daughter. He thought of how he funded Hermione's research into memory magic and her subsequent trip to Australia to retrieve her parents so she could restore their memories. He had done this even while disconnected and, while shocking, it had meant the world to Hermione and given her hope that all was not lost with Harry.

Hermione thanked him and thanked him again for his help with her parents during this visit, even daring to initiate physical contact by giving him a swift hug before departing (which he permitted but did not actively return). Harry watched her wave to him before she left the home via Floo and, for some reason, he thought of his confession to her about the Horcrux. Consequently, his thoughts regarding this were more persistent as he lay in bed that night.

Harry's recollections about the locket's Hermione centered musings had not gone away since the witch's first visit. They had increased with each passing trip, in fact, but he had not mentioned them again since then. During her next visit they spoke about jobs (Hermione's work at the Ministry and Harry's insistence that, no, he was not considering a career of any kind so leave it be), and while she was talking (because she was the one who did the majority of the talking when she was over), he watched her attentively as images from the Horcrux flashed through his head.

The locations and scenarios in which they had sex in the dark fantasies varied, but one thing Hermione said frequently, often at his urging, was that she was his. In the visions, she assured Harry she was his as he drove into her over and over and she clung tightly to him. Did the real Hermione feel in some way, even to a small degree, even unconsciously, that she belonged to him? Is that why she had been the last one standing in trying to reach him- why she was _always_ the last one standing when it came to him? The one who knew him best… and the Horcrux had seized upon it and made it perverse.

Although, Harry questioned if it was really all that perverse. It was merely sex... Sex with Hermione: a notion that swirled in his brain more and more as the days passed.

The wizard mentioned the locket fantasies once more two and a half weeks later. The pair was perched on the floor of the small sitting room with a bottle of wine sitting in the space between their bodies. He had actually convinced Hermione to indulge with him a bit and she, wanting to stay and feel attached to him and noticing he had been speaking more than usual, agreed. She had begun her second glass and knew there would be no more after this while Harry was still on his first.

"You know," he commenced lazily, peering at her, "We never really talked about what I told you when you first visited."

"Which was?" Hermione prompted. She felt pleasant, likely due to the wine and from how this trip to Grimmauld was turing out.

"The locket thoughts I had about you."

A blush heated her face as she gazed at Harry and he could see the surprise on her countenance. It pleased him. Catching her off guard had become fun for him.

"Y-You want to talk about that?" she asked after a long moment. He shrugged, a smile starting to form. He heard the slight tremble in her voice.

"You didn't have inappropriate thoughts about Ron, or me?" Harry wondered. (Ron- there was Ron again. His nonchalant mention of him like he talked to the red head, like they were still best friends, when in reality Harry did not seem to even care that the other wizard existed).

"Not… not so much, no."

"Want to hear about mine?"

Hermione stared at him, heart pumping more rapidly. Why did he want to discuss this? Why did he want her to know how his thoughts had been influenced in such a salacious way? What was his objective?

"Why share that, Harry?" the brunette inquired, sounding robbed of breath.

"Only seems fair since they were about you," he stated, not breaking eye contact. He wanted to smirk but refrained, and when she did not say anything more to encourage or stop him, he continued.

"In some of them, I took you on the forest floor. Leaves were caught in your hair and we were only dressed from the waist up. In most of them, it happened in the tent- _anywhere_ in the tent. On any surface. And then, in one, we were swimming in the lake. It was night and we were meant to be bathing, but it was deathly quiet and the only sounds that echoed through the trees were the water sloshing round and your moans." Harry explained.

Hermione finally looked away. Her face was completely flushed and she felt confused, embarrassed, and, and… oh _God_ , why had he revealed that?! Harry, on the other hand, was now smirking; if he were a cat, he would have purred. It felt delicious for reasons he could not fully articulate.

"I see," she mumbled after a long bout of silence, during which she gazed at the floor the entire time.

"But the locket's been destroyed, right? No harm, no foul," he offered before drinking his wine.

"Y-Yes. Right!" This came out brightly but Hermione still would not meet his eye.

The witch left after finishing her second glass. It had been fairly quiet between the two after Harry's racy description but he used the time to study her, and when she got up to exit the room he jumped right after her, catching her hand and thanking her for the visit (the first time he had ever thanked her for stopping by). He stared at her intently and she was dazed for a moment or two before stuttering out an "of course" and going on her way.

That night, they both dreamt of leaves tangled in brown hair.

Hermione noticed that Harry changed after that. He continued to speak less than her and maintained the same level of detachment, yes, but he was different. He acted differently in a physical sense whenever she was over in that he'd stare raptly at her or stand very closely to her, give occasional touches that were light but lingered and seemed to electrify her skin. And maybe it was simply glimpses of old Harry but she was unsure. This seemed different than both versions of him to which she had been exposed.

Hermione also surmised the change was largely to do with the admittance of his Horcrux fantasies, something she was still unsure how to digest. She did not understand his motive behind telling her and perhaps she never would, for she could no longer follow or guess his thought process (not this version of Harry), and he was not likely to give an answer if she confronted him about it. The witch had tried to address other matters with him and he had either forcefully told her he was not interested in talking or he simply did not respond.

It was during one of these instances after the noticeable shift that Harry acted and set a catalyst in motion.

They had just finished a meal that Hermione made when she floated their used dishes to the kitchen sink, all except the glass of liquor that obstinately sat in Harry's hand. (The brunette once brought up his regular drinking with concern but he shut her down in a heartbeat, bluntly telling her it was not a problem and he would not stop so she should harp about someone else's alcohol consumption). Harry had watched her for most of the meal as she gave updates about their loved ones (asserting that, yes, _their_ loved ones still applied) and she had not failed to notice how piercing his gaze was.

Hermione let out a deep exhale as she made to clean the dishes but did so as quietly as she could. She had been feeling more frazzled in Harry's presence since that damned revelation but it was not nearly enough to keep her away from Grimmauld. Oh no- her visits could not dwindle and risk Harry letting her in; just the right amount of time away and the door might not ever open again. Hermione would not have that and believed she could handle whatever he threw her way… including a deft hand on her waist.

She jumped in place and turned around. He was standing directly in front of her with the same focused stare, and when she went to question what the issue was he held up his glass, which was bare. Hermione looked at it before grabbing it, thanking him and going to put it in the sink with everything else. Conversely, Harry planted both hands on her waist to keep her facing him and preventing her from fully turning back around. She appeared bewildered as she searched his face.

"Harry, what… what-" Hermione uttered. This was the first time the wizard had given her this much physical contact since his disappearance and, combined with his gaze, it made her heart positively race.

Harry did not reply or relieve his grip. He maintained his stare and she returned it but felt reticent, realizing her body was heating up. What was going through his head? _Why_ was he so close?

Instinctively, the brunette had an inkling of what would happen, of what he wanted, but it did not lessen the shock in any sense. Hermione made to speak again but had no opportunity to utter one syllable before his mouth descended on hers without warning.

A gasp got caught in her throat as she watched Harry kiss her through large, widened eyes. The wizard's own had closed as he moved his lips against hers with purpose, hands beginning to tighten a bit around her waist. Hermione was rendered immobile. Her best friend was kissing her (because he was still her best friend, right? He still saw her that way? He _had_ to still think of her that way!). But why? Should she stop him?

Hermione tried not to let her confusion overwhelm her because the sensation of Harry's mouth teasing hers was hard enough, but when he made a low, impatient noise in his throat and bit her bottom lip, she could not help herself. Her eyes closed as well and she released a tiny sob as her hands went to his neck, now earnestly returning the kisses. This was probably wrong on multiple levels but Merlin help her if it did not feel good, and Harry had been the one to initiate it (whatever his reasons). _He_ had. And it felt like a gift- an unanticipated way to be connected to him, which is all that she truly craved.

Another noise from Harry and his tongue was in her mouth. He stepped into her until there was no space and she could not move from her spot against the sink. Kissing her was turning out to be fantastic. Now that Hermione wasn't frozen, she was responding to him so wonderfully. One of his hands left her waist for her hair and he pulled until her head fell back to the angle he wanted, which drew a shuddering breath from the witch. Her hands were now splayed on his chest. When Harry opened his mouth wide in order to suck her tongue, she made a high pitched keening noise that caused something in him to snap.

Hermione felt herself being yanked until she was flush against Harry, which was impressive considering how distracting it was having him _suck her tongue_. The next thing she knew, she was being pulled in on herself and when she opened her eyes she was no longer in the kitchen. She saw that she was in a bedroom as she pulled back from him in surprise. Harry had Apparated them into a bedroom: his bedroom. It looked to be the master but Hermione had little time to assess it; she gasped as he pushed her back onto his large bed. Her heart was beating like a jackhammer as they stared at one another.

Those blasted, lustful thoughts created by the locket had finally spilled over for Harry this visit, and he had been quiet while they ate because he had been imagining what would happen if he acted to make those lurid fantasies a reality. For a fleeting moment it felt like the Horcrux had been on his chest, whispering for him to _DO IT_ while he watched her talk about what Neville was up to. And so he had, thinking that the images he had been plagued with since her initial visit might now cease, especially if they would be replaced with real memories.

Harry felt brazen as he peered at Hermione. He felt excited and powerful and he knew that he did not want to stop. Snogging her had made him feverish. He quickly joined her on the bed and resumed their kissing, climbing on top of her as her arms wound around his neck. They made out wildly and Hermione lost herself. She distantly thought they should talk about this if only for a minute but she kept quiet. She kept quiet when Harry licked and sucked her throat enough to leave marks, she kept quiet when she felt his hardened length, and she kept quiet when his hand slipped under her top to find her breast.

It was when he lifted her right leg, put it around his waist, and began grinding against her that Hermione spoke at last. She breathlessly called his name as her arms fell from around him and Harry pulled back to gaze at her. The brunette's head was swimming from his attention. It all felt sogood, especially the grinding, but the goodness of it is what caused her pause. Considering that they did not even discuss what they were doing, how far were they going to go? How far did she want this to go?

Harry could see the questions in Hermione's eyes but he was also aware of how she had reacted to him. She had returned his affections, which he thought she might, and it enlivened him. (The Horcrux had been on to something, it seemed). He wanted her and was on the brink of making that happen, but he would give her an out, of course. If she _really_ did not want this… or if she told herself she did not.

"I'll stop if you tell me to," Harry softly alerted, slowly pushing up her top to reveal her flat stomach. He swept a hand across it as he nibbled her ear, "Tell me to stop, Hermione."

The witch prevented a groan from escaping her mouth as her face scrunched up. Right now, she did not _want_ him to stop, but the alternative… the alternative was so monumentous. Hermione knew they couldn't- she knew they couldn't, no matter how gratifying this felt. It was not right! There was entirely _too_ much left unsaid. 'We can't' resounded in her head like a mantra but, somehow, it never left her lips. It never left her lips so Harry did not stop and it all felt so _good_ , and before she realized it they had gone over the edge.

Nude alongside her best friend, underneath him. Heavy breaths and pants and a choked out 'Christ' as he pushed inside her for the first time. Biting her lip while her hands found purchase on his arched back. Kisses from him that made her melt as she acclimated to the feeling of his body pistoning in and out of hers. And the culmination of it: the warmth and the pulsing, Harry gasping once before his body fell on hers and Hermione could feel the frenzied pace of both their hearts.

It was silent for a long while, even after he rolled off her. She eventually excused herself and got up to walk to the en-suite bathroom, shutting the door firmly into place once inside. She exhaled against the door before tending to her business and then stared in the mirror after she had washed her hands.

Hermione was dumbfounded. She was dumbfounded and _naked_ , and she had just had sex with Harry Potter.

She gave a strangled cry, pulling at her hair. What had shedone?! Why on Earth had she not vocalized the insistence that they could not go beyond their impassioned snog? She had _known_ where continuing would lead and here she was now! How had she gone from eating food with Harry to sleeping with him in the blink of an eye?

God, what did this mean? What would happen now? Hermione realized this aspect of her trip to Grimmauld was something she could and would _not_ tell Ron about, and she felt shame. Her shoulders hunched. What would Ron think? Would he be disgusted, angry, jealous? The red head was actually the first person Hermione had been with sexually and it happened a couple months after the Battle of Hogwarts, during which Harry was already alienating himself. The witch had wanted to share that special experience with Ron and did not regret it, but it made her heart twist to contemplate what he would think of this situation. More importantly, what did _Harry_ think about what they had just done?

She had to find out, had to question him and insist on answers. They had to talk… but maybe not today. Her head felt too scrambled.

Consequently, Hermione stayed in the bathroom for a quarter of an hour with her thoughts and feelings. She continued to feel shy and uncertain when she emerged, having decided to redress and go home; she would return tomorrow to have the necessary discussion with Harry when her head space was clearer. Hermione looked up when she approached the bed and found him observing her with a placid expression on his face. She strove not to blush at their mutual nudity (although he was covered with sheets from the waist down).

Harry raised an eyebrow as Hermione began to collect her clothes and put them back on her body. The witch was in her bra and panties when he spoke up.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked in a casual tone. She peered at him in surprise.

"Erm, w-well, I, I tho…" she sputtered.

"I'm not chucking you out, Hermione," the wizard declared, eyes on the ceiling, "Unless you want to go, in which case be my guest."

Hermione dropped her gaze while she processed his words. To leave or stay…. Harry seemed so collected, so composed in spite of what they had just done. Ultimately, it was his composure that coaxed and beckoned her to carefully get back into the bed with him.

They did not speak much, a fact that her muddled brain was actually grateful for at the moment. They laid together and she held onto him and they drifted in and out of sleep, and, when at some point hours passed and the room had completely darkened, Hermione found Harry pumping into her again and sighing in pleasure while she placed small kisses on his shoulder.

Hermione's next trip to Grimmauld following her sexual indiscretion with Harry left her feeling profoundly nervous. She was not going to avoid seeing him, of course not- she had a unyielding rule about that- but they had to face what they had done and God knew how that conversation would go. They had not mentioned it at all during the previous visit, as odd as it was. Hermione, too afraid, had asked no questions and Harry, his typical aloof self, had not offered any explanation for the sex, not even after the second time, so the elephant in the room was able to roam free.

But they had to discuss it now, surely. It was too big to ignore (having sex with your estranged best friend!) and the brunette's nerves would simply have to endure it. Moreover, hearing Harry's reasoning would be helpful… would be relieving. However, when he met her at the door, their sexual encounter was not the first thing to fall from his lips.

"I left the house today," he reported in a tetchy tone.

"What?! Harry! You did?!," Hermione answered, peering at him with bright eyes, "That's wonderful! Where'd you go?"

"Diagon," the wizard noted, moving to let her inside, "It was awful."

Hermione had crusaded for Harry to leave his townhome and attempt to start to reintegrate with the wizarding world since her third visit. He insisted he did get out and she responded that leaving for necessary errands once a week, early in the morning or late at night to help his chances of avoiding people, was not getting out. He usually ignored her when she encouraged him to travel beyond the walls of Grimmauld but this proved that maybe he was not always tuning her out. Hermione felt some hope while she listened to Harry describe how grating his 30 minute jaunt to Diagon Alley had been, an emotion that was creeping up more often as her visits continued.

The pair did not once speak about the fact that they had slept together during this trip. It was on Hermione's mind, sure, but Harry did not reference it in any way or treat her differently. The witch left that evening thinking that perhaps the sex had merely been a fluke, something they had both needed to get out of their systems or something to do in order to help bridge the gap between them. And Harry did seem more attuned to her this visit! Sure, he was horribly sarcastic and constantly teased her (although rather playfully), but he was talkative and engaged and it made her hope swell even further.

Hermione's thought that the sex had been a rare (but significant) anomaly died during the next trip to see him when she wound up undulating beneath him in his bed once more. The wizard silently initiated it again, although this time they had been in the library, and she had submitted without pushback, but there was another difference from the last time.

"Say it's mine, Hermione," Harry ordered, breath ragged against her neck, "Say you're mine! Tell me."

Hermione felt somewhat rattled by his command but she couldn't deny him, not when he sounded like that and _not_ when she felt so linked to him through this intimate act.

"It's… I'm y-yours, Harry. I'm yours! Just yours."

He groaned in response and bit her neck, causing her to gasp as he increased his pace.

Harry did not ask her to assert his ownership the fourth time they had sex. After the fifth time, Hermione realized a couple things. The first was that the connection she felt to him when they were physical was stark and she clung to it. The connection contrasted with the fortified wall he had built and it felt like, when their bodies were joined together, that she was on a ladder and seeing over the wall.

The second thing Hermione realized was that they had not cast any contraceptive charms up to this point. The five times had been unprotected and it made the witch panic until she took a Muggle test and wizarding potion to help determine if there was an unplanned fetus in her womb. When both results turned out negative, she breathed a sigh of relief and swore to talk to Harry about what exactly it was they were doing. Because that was just it- despite having had sex multiple times now, they _still_ had not openly discussed why it was happening.

Hermione blamed Harry but she also blamed herself. He was the instigator every time, never offering a reason, but Hermione never demanded they have a conversation nor did she rebuff his advances. The part of her that was dependent on their connection when physically intimate was fearful that rocking the boat would cause Harry to retreat, although she knew carrying on like this, without pointing to the damned elephant in the room, would bring absolutely no good. It was not sustainable. So she promised to finally set a boundary and discuss their budding sexual relationship before jumping back into bed with him again... but this did not exactly pan out, and Hermione hastily cast the necessary contraceptive spell on herself right before Harry roughly entered her during their sixth time in one of the house's drawing rooms.

* * *

Hermione and Harry fell into a routine. They developed a fully fledged sexual relationship, an intense, satisfying one, but they did not talk about it. They did not discuss why it had originated or why it was maintained. Sex between them started with no explanation and it carried on that way, and the witch couldn't find the resolve to change the dynamic. A large part of Hermione loved sleeping with Harry but she hated that she had no idea what he thought about the situation. Was he getting something out of it besides physical gratification? Did he feel the same, strong attachment to her and sense of nostalgia when they were together that way or was he... using her?

Hermione was loathed to think this was why Harry had sex with her but the notion never fully left her mind. What was more, she recognized certain aspects about their intimacy that suggested the purpose of what they were doing varied quite a bit between the two. It did not take long for her to register that Harry was never affectionate, never touched, hugged or kissed her, unless it was leading up to or during sex. Hermione was not naive enough to believe her friend wanted or saw her as a girlfriend, but she wondered (and wondered constantly) how he viewed their physical relationship.

Additionally, the sex changed between them. Or more so, _Harry_ changed- his attitude and how he behaved morphed into something different. He was always passionate, from the very first time they were intimate, but he eventually started to show… arrogance. He seemed flippant about the sex at times, like it wasn't _her_ he was doing this way, like she was just some woman… like she could have been any woman.

There was a specific day this hit home for Hermione and caused all of the painful possibilities she was hiding from (that Harry _was_ using her, that he did not care half as much as she did) to bombard her mind all at once.

He had just reached his climax, rigidly gripping her hips from behind while his head fell forward and he grunted, jerking her forward from fast yet forceful thrusts. Hermione's head and abdomen were flat against the mattress. Her eyes were closed while she bit her bottom lip and she did not open them until she felt the change in Harry's movements. He gradually slowed down until he stopped moving totally, at which point he took a long moment before he exhaled and removed one hand to rake through his hair.

The wizard gave a short laugh as he pulled out of her. Hermione sighed at the sensation and made to push herself up on her hands, but she felt Harry suddenly slap her ass (which caused her to jump) and heard him declare in a cheerful voice:

"What fun that was! Thanks for the good time, love."

He laughed again as he hopped off the bed and strolled into his bathroom, stretching his arms above his head before hurling the door closed behind him.

Hermione's breathing quickened as she brought her legs up and curled on her side, pulling some of the tousled bedding over her lower half. Shame. She felt shame again amidst the shock, confusion and bit of anger that was making her stomach clench, but it was most notably shame. Hermione had not experienced this since the initial time they had sex and she decided she could not tell Ron what they had done.

A good time? It sounded so… callous.

Hurt was the next emotion to join the fray and this was the first Hermione had experienced it since sleeping with Harry. She put a hand over her eyes to help steady herself against the wave of emotion that had washed over her. These feelings were maring the connection they had during sex. All Hermione could focus on was what Harry had said (a good time- _fun_ ), not the link to him she had come to expect during sex.

She did not know why she was reacting this way or why this felt so particularly jarring. Maybe she was just overreacting and reading into things; she _had_ to read into things since Harry did not offer insight into what he thought or felt!

But maybe… maybe Hermione was actually fooling herself, and his comment had forced her eyes open. Maybe she could no longer ignore Harry's intentions in favor of her pretending… maybe this connection she so faithfully sought and clung to was one sided.

* * *

A/N: One more chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**To Forgive a Stone Heart**

Harry was no fool. Hermione was acting differently.

It may have been subtle but it was different, and it had to do with sex. He did not know she ruminated over the idea that he was using her for sexual gratification. He did not know she thought she was a coward for not discussing their sexual relationship and thought she was weak willed by continuing it. Harry just knew she was acting differently.

He sensed Hermione's hesitancy when they were not actively having sex. He took note of her ambivalence right before they were intimate, that she did not give herself or accept him as quickly as she once had. She still gave in, of course; she still moaned without restraint and gripped his slick skin when he was inside of her. And while she had yet to outright refuse sex between them, Harry noticed the seconds she restlessly shifted from foot to foot when he took her by the waist, or noticed how she would not look him in the eye the first few moments he started kissing her. And these seconds were cursory yet telling. They screamed of doubt.

There was a new factor affecting Hermione. Something had changed, which in turn changed her attitude regarding their physical relationship. Harry was not particularly surprised she was not voicing the source of her recent uncertainty, as she had learned to not bring up issues that might upset him, but it irritated him to a degree. He mulled over what it could be throughout the days Hermione visited without ever asking her directly what was causing the shift (because that was not how he functioned anymore and, as long as she kept coming to his bed, it was not _that_ important a matter).

It was not until Harry considered the possibility that her mild change in demeanor was due to another man- another _lover_ \- that he halted in his tracks. Perhaps the witch's uneasiness was because of worry or guilt: guilt that was she giving her body to more than one person. Giving it to someone _not him_.

When this idea implanted itself in Harry's mind, it was not easily uprooted. In fact, it only grew and the roots became imbedded, spawning suspicion, paranoia, and anger (and worry, which he hardly admitted to himself). The thought of another man being with Hermione positively _rankled_ him. He did not want that. Did not want to share, did not want anyone else to see or touch her naked body, did not want another to pull pleased noises from her.

The idea festered in his brain. Harry observed her with a more critical (paranoid) eye and regarded her with a sharper tongue, and steadily became convinced that she was sleeping with another wizard. It only magnified his post-war dour temperament. Three weeks after his theory manifested, it burst out of him for Hermione to hear. The two were in some room or another and she was talking about something or other (who cared to remember when he was this riled up?) when her speech trailed off. The witch frowned at Harry's agitated pacing. Before this, he had been scowling at her and twitching his leg so rapidly it practically blurred; consequently, he had hardly said anything since she stepped into Grimmauld that day. Hermione normally corraled their conversation but it was rare when the wizard was completely silent.

"Harry," Hermione carefully commenced, watching him, "What's wrong?"

He stopped pacing and turned to face her fully, the scowl still present on his countenance. A long moment passed before he spoke.

"You've been shagging someone else. That's why you're acting like this," he attested in a clipped tone.

"E-Excuse me?" she asked, gaping at him. She felt dumbfounded.

"You heard me."

"Acting like _what_?"

"Did you think I wouldn't notice? I touch you and it's different now, but only at the start. Only at the start. But it's there." Harry mentioned, sounding like he was speaking to himself more than her. Either way, it shocked Hermione. Perhaps she should have not been this surprised to hear he was aware of her reticence but she may have also been floored that he verbalized it.

"I-I…" Hermione stuttered.

"Are you going to admit to it?"

"What? No," She furrowed her brow, "Where did you come up with this? What made you think this?"

"Swear you're not, then." Harry demanded, completely ignoring her inquiries.

"Harry-" she uttered. She could feel her emotions stirring.

"Prove me wrong!"

"No!," said Hermione, in disbelief of his thought process, "I am not dignifying this with an answer!" She looked angry now but her lack of a direct response only stoked Harry's paranoia and molded his aggravation into anger.

"That's it, isn't it? I knew it. I _knew_ it. You're fucking someone else!" the wizard stated, glaring as he took steps until he was right in front of her. Hermione bristled at the accusation and the coarse language.

"You sound crazy!" she exclaimed. She balled her fists and refused to be intimidated into moving.

"So who is it then, hmm? Who's the lucky bloke who gets into your knickers?"

"Piss off!"

Hermione made to move past Harry in order to retrieve her bag but he would not allow her. He yanked her hand into his and pulled her back, his other hand going to clutch her waist to better keep her in place.

"I asked who it is, Hermione!," Harry gruffly stated, "Our dear Ronald? How original!"

"Get off!" the witch commanded, tugging on her hand.

"Maybe Neville? Dean? Seamus? Anthony Goldstein? Finch-Fletchley?"

"Let _go,_ Harry!"

"Maybe you've cozied up to a Slytherin! Nott, Zabini? Or maybe you've got a thing for older men! Percy? Oliver Wood? _Arthur_?" he prompted, sneering Mr. Weasley's name.

Not even a full second later, Hermione slapped Harry on the left side of his face with her free hand, and slapped him hard. It caused him to release her. She jerked away from him while he went to instinctively cradle his face.

"How _dare_ you!," Hermione asserted, "How could you ev... don't you _ever_ imply anything like that again!" Her voice had risen to a shout and she found it hard to pull air into her lungs as she stared at him in outrage.

"I don't know what has gotten into your head! I don't even know why you started sleeping with me in the first place, as pathetic as that sounds!," she continued, "But you will not talk to me like that again. You will not accuse me!... even if I _were_ sleeping with someone else, that is NONE of your business! We are _not_ together, Harry- you make that quite clear! We are not a couple and that means I can have sex with whomever I want!" she continued.

The wizard was glaring daggers at her and looked irate, eyes dark and cheek still red from her slap.

"Which is another way of saying you can lie on your back and be a whore," he grit out.

Hermione's eyes widened as shock ravaged her, shock profound enough to wipe away the righteous anger she felt. They watched one another. She was momentarily at a loss for how to respond while water began to slowly fill her eyes.

"Get out," Harry ordered, pointing to the entrance of the room, "Get out _now_."

Hermione recognized the incipient sign of hyperventilation and, even without his command, she had to get out of the house, had to get away from him. She did not know how her bag ended up in her hands (wandless Summoning?) but when she had it she raced out of the room and through the townhome. The witch slammed the front door with as much force as she could on her way out, and it was not until she was in her bedroom in her apartment, with Crookshanks yawning out a lazy meow, that she realized she was shaking.

Hermione did not return to Grimmauld the next day or the day after that or the day after that. She stopped going altogether, in fact, but Harry did not care. He had his thoughts, anger, and the horrible images of her underneath (or on top of) another wizard to keep him company and that was enough to sustain him… for about ten days, anyway. For ten days he did not worry about Hermione coming over or even want it, and a part of him vowed to never let her in again.

Conversely, after two weeks of no contact, a new thought emerged for Harry as to why he had not heard from the brunette witch in 13 whole days and it refueled his anger (which had, truthfully, started to simmer after day eight). He had not gone this long from hearing from Hermione since he had granted her access all those many weeks ago. It irritated him. Who did she think she was? It was bad enough she was probably (maybe) screwing someone else but now she was ignoring him? Did she expect _him_ to reach out to _her_? Did she think her absence was getting to him?

She could _stay_ gone for all he cared! Harry did not give a rat's ass and he told Hermione as much in a letter he sent her 16 days after he kicked her out. He had written it after consuming half a bottle of whiskey and the message informed her that she could stay wherever the hell she was because he would neither welcome her back nor regret that he forced her out. The letter was quite aggressive and contained a few choice curse words, as well, and Harry tasked Kreacher with ensuring it was sent.

Another week passed with no contact from Hermione but Harry's change in demeanor within that week was drastic. He went from feeling furious to feeling guilty, anxious, and lonely. He spent one entire day laid in his bed being consumed by these emotions, thinking that he excelled at pushing people away and believing he would die alone in the haunted home of his dead godfather. He considered that he was truly defective and broken. Harry did not move from his bed until 10PM that day, at which time he stumbled into his kitchen and lost himself in alcohol.

One hour later he was inebriated and composing another letter to Hermione. This letter was longer than the first and utterly vulnerable, something Harry had not been with her once since their reunion. He apologized for his behavior and cruel words, apologized for hurting her. He mentioned his confusion and solitude in the days since Voldemort's fall, acknowledging he was not showing her the respect she was due for being the only person in his life to never desert him, even when he was being an absolute prick. And like the last time, Harry instructed his elf to see to the message's delivery, with the additional step of including a gesture of remorse: a small yet exquisite trinket from the Potter vault that reminded him of Hermione.

Yet another week passed without contact from her and the wizard's demeanor shifted once more. Harry started to feel resentful she did not answer his second letter and continued with her silence (despite the fact that he had spilled out his heart, damn it). He again asked himself just who she thought she was. _He_ was Harry Bleeding Potter, champion of wizarding Britain and defeater of ultimate evil. His numerous titles had been thrown on him but they were still his, and Hermione was treating him as though he was some regular, mediocre person, one whom had not sacrificed countless things for the blasted greater good.

In fact, _she_ would not be known if not for Harry! She was undeniably brilliant in a mental sense but she would have gone through Hogwarts as the intelligent but alienated Muggleborn if he had not befriended her. What would her magical life have been like without him? Would she have even survived their second year and the horror of the basilisk? Harry's blood was warmed by alcohol once more when he wrote his third letter to Hermione full of arrogance, posing the prideful question of who would she be without him. He told himself it did not matter that he continued to write her despite receiving no response; she needed to hear (or read) everything he had to say.

It did not matter that it had been a month since he last saw or spoke to her.

It did not matter.

* * *

Hermione walked cautiously into the main living room of Grimmauld as though expecting something to jump out and attack her. She peered around the space before her gaze naturally landed on the couch, where she saw a leg hanging over the right arm of the sofa. Taking a moment to close her eyes and exhale, the woman walked forward until she was facing the couch and the person sprawled on it. Harry was on his back and asleep, his glasses on the floor along with multiple pieces of parchment and a bottle of liquor that was not anywhere close to being full. Her heart clenched at the sight.

When Hermione arrived to the townhome with Kreacher by her side, it had been in the kitchen, so when she saw that it was empty she left and made a short list of all the rooms she would check and in what order. The living room had been her second destination and she found her mark, so she paused while she watched Harry's slumber. The grip she had on the parchment she had in her own hand tightened as she thought of how best to wake him or where she would be when she did. Should she continue to stand? Kneel by his face on the floor? Sit on the portion of the sofa by his head that he was not occupying?

Hermione chose to sit. She slowly maneuvered her feet around the items on the floor and sat on the cushion just above his head, wanting to frown at the compulsion she felt to run a hand through his hair. She watched Harry for a bit longer before putting a hand on his right shoulder and squeezing as she called his name, keeping it up until he started to rouse.

When Harry opened his eyes he stared at the fireplace in front of him as the disorientation quickly faded, and when he felt pressure on his shoulder and heard someone calling his name, he snapped to. Green eyes shot upward and were met with the sight of Hermione.

Hermione!

The wizard's eyes widened some before he swiftly sat up and tried to get his bearings as fast as he could.

"Hermione," he commenced, voice raspy, a hand plowing through his hair and mirroring the witch's desire, "Hermione. What… what are you doing here?" She thought of how to answer while he bent down to retrieve his glasses and shoved them on his face. He stared at her now that he could see in full capacity again.

"Kreacher brought me," she reported, gazing at the paper in her hand.

"What?"

Harry looked confused and Hermione refrained from sighing. The old elf had shown up in her apartment not long ago and scared the hell out of her and Crookshanks. He told her his master had sent him to fetch her and she had to go with him least he fail to fulfill his master's command. What Kreacher did not share was that Harry had been drunk the previous night and mentioned for the elf to "get Hermione" before dropping his head on his arm like dead weight. Accordingly, the bottle of alcohol at their feet and his perplexed reaction told the brunette that her friend had likely been intoxicated at the time of his request and, now, did not recall making it.

"Kreacher brought me. He said he had to," she stoically repeated. Harry cleared his throat and looked away from her as the implication of her words sank in. It was quiet.

"I haven't seen you in a month," he attested. It was difficult to determine if this was an explanation or a damning allegation.

"I know."

Harry gazed at her again, his expression morphing into one of frustration as he thought of his letters, of the persistent thoughts that had plagued him for the past four weeks. And all because of her! He opened his mouth to say something but Hermione was handing him the paper in her hand, still not making eye contact. There were three pieces and he was only puzzled for a quick moment before he recognized his handwriting. His letters.

"I almost burned the first one," Hermione claimed in the same calm tone, "I should have. When the second came, I opened the package first and saw the snuff box, which made me read the letter instead of ridding of it on sight."

Harry's chest felt oddly tight as he read over lines of the messages; he did not remember writing a good portion of them. It may have been a month since they last spoke but she had thought about him every day during their period of separation.

"The second letter made up for the third one. The second letter is the reason I'm here, Harry," she revealed, looking at him now. It was silent yet again.

"So you liked the box, then," he noted, referring to the trinket he had gifted. He gently pushed the parchment back over to her and worked his hardest to stuff down the surge of emotion that had risen without invitation. He had not glanced at her since seeing the letters.

"I liked your words that accompanied it more."

Hermione noticed that Harry looked… he looked like he was feeling numerous things, but she knew for certain that she saw a true flash of guilt on his countenance. She put a hand over his as the silence engulfed them. She eventually looked away from him, softly running the fingers of her unbound hand over the paper that sat between them. When Harry flipped his hand over and curled his fingers around hers, interlocking them, stare not wavering from the hearth in front of them, Hermione closed her eyes. She wanted to lean into him but squeezed his hand instead, and when he squeezed back it felt like a promise.

It was a little slow going getting them back into their routine of visits and sardonic banter (on Harry's part) but it happened. At first, Hermione only came to see him once a week but the multiple trips to Grimmauld returned after three weeks or so. And what was more, they had not had sex since the time he insisted she had another partner, and Harry did not push for or reference it. This gave Hermione an overwhelming sense of relief because she took it as an indication that he was _not_ using her for sex. There had been an explosion between them and he let her back in, without trying to initiate physical intimacy once more, and it made her feel highly pleased. She inferred that he wanted her without simply _wanting_ her and it was the very consolation she had wanted.

Hermione's discomfort melted away. She also would have liked to believe that she set new, effective boundaries with him that was making a difference in their dynamic. All in all, consequently, she was feeling rather happy with Harry (or as happy as she could be with this version of him). And when he agreed to visit her apartment for the very first time with essentially no cajoling or pleading (and only one eye roll from him), Hermione could have been bowled over. It was the first time they would leave Grimmauld together (even if it was just to go to another home) and she knew it was no small feat. It started with her apartment and then, eventually, hopefully, she could get him out and about alongside her during normal daylight hours on a steadily increasing basis.

The witch cleaned her home for two hours the Friday night before Harry came over. He had given her permission to connect Grimmauld to her apartment via the Floo Network and she had taken care of that during her lunch break at the Ministry days previously. When Hermione arrived to the townhome the following day and stepped out of the living room fireplace, Harry had a suggestion that was more shocking than his easy consent to see her apartment. He asked if her parents were available and, if they were, if she would take him to meet with them for tea.

The request was incredibly last minute but Hermione, once she had gotten over being stunned, whipped out her cell phone to contact her parents and see if it were possible. He was asking to _get out_ and do something more, to _meet_ with her parents… this was significant.

As it turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were free and seemed glad to have their daughter and her closest friend over for tea. At the older couple's request in favor of preparation, Harry and Hermione waited an hour before going over; she was highly nervous and eager for him to interact with her mother and father. She reasoned that since Simon and Darla Granger had never actually spent time with Harry, outside of farewells and goodbyes at King's Cross, they would not notice that he had changed. That his attitude and demeanor had changed. And Hermione hoped with everything in her that he would behave.

The tea was enjoyable. It left Hermione feeling surprised but thrilled. Harry did not do anything to set off red flags for the Grangers but Darla did privately mention to her daughter that she was not expecting him to be as witty (sarcastic) as he was.

"Man of few words as well, mmm?" Mrs. Granger questioned.

"Yes. Definitely the strong, silent type." Hermione responded, giving a resigned laugh. If only her mother knew the half of it.

The wizard and witch went to her apartment once tea was done and she talked his ear off for five minutes straight, thoroughly pleased with how amiable the trip to her parents' had gone.

"Are you going to keep talking like you're Lockhart or show me around your flat?" Harry asked, smirking. She stopped speaking and pursed her lip to keep from smirking herself.

"Arse," she mumbled, turning away from him primly, "Well then, if you want a tour of my grand home, let's start."

A loud meow then resounded and Hermione's cat came trotting into the living room. He peered at his master and was about to meow again before spotting Harry, and he went still for a second as the man let a genuine grin show.

"Crookshanks!" Harry stated, dropping down to one knee and holding out his hand. The feline took two hops over to him and began avidly rubbing himself against Harry while purring as loudly as motorboat.

Hermione, consequently, was overcome with how mollified this simple display of familiarity made her feel. The pure nostalgia. It felt like she was watching Old Harry be reacquainted with her pet and she watched them with delight, only managing to keep a gigantic smile from showing.

"He still likes me, I reckon," he remarked.

"Of course he does. He always has," she replied, the happiness evident in her tone.

"A cat of excellent taste."

The wizard stood up and peered at her and she offered a smile before prompting him and Crookshanks, her fellow guide, to follow her throughout the modest yet nice two bedroom apartment. Hermione babbled about the building and certain furnishings she had bought, just _happy_ to have him here and acting agreeably, but when they were in her bedroom Harry made an offhand comment about her bed seeing a lot of action, which made her freeze and instantly started to detract from her good mood. Accordingly, he observed this and assured her that he was kidding.

The pair reconvened in the living room and dumped themselves on her sofa. Hermione had become noticeably quieter since the bed joke so Harry instructed her to tell him how things were with her work, something he was banking on to get her talking in an unrestricted manner again. (He turned out to be right). He stayed for about an hour and a half before he announced that he was going to return to Grimmauld so Kreacher could feed him a late lunch. The brunette wanted him to stay and thought about offering to make food for them herself but she did not want to push Harry and risk jeopardizing how congenial the day had been. Alternatively, Hermione did not do anything but nod and imitate his movement of standing up.

"You've got a cute place here, Granger," he claimed.

"Thank you," she answered. She then impulsively reached out and touched his wrist, "You're free to come any time you'd like." Harry stared at her before speaking once more.

"Am I?"

"Of course. It'd only be fair, don't you think?"

He was silent again as he continued to watch her.

"Mmm. Fair," the wizard eventually said, taking a step closer. Hermione nodded, gazing back at him. She felt her heart start to change its pace and only a bit more time passed before Harry grabbed her face with his hand and kissed her.

She was fairly surprised by the move. It took her a couple seconds to respond but she did respond; she returned his kiss, which was unexpectedly unhurried and _sweet_. It was inviting. Hermione used both of her hands to hold onto his free hand. She felt herself release a tiny sigh. This kiss was the physical embodiment of the day, a perfect way to end her time with him.

And then it started to change. Harry slowly walked her until her back made contact with a wall… not enough reason to break the lovely kiss. He removed his other hand from hers and brought it up to completely frame her face… still okay. His tongue swept along her bottom lip and then darted out to seek hers… Hermione pulled away at last.

"Harry…" she muttered.

"It's okay," he attested. He waited a long moment before reconnecting their mouths and she closed her eyes as she instructed herself to relax and let him guide her.

Harry pressed into her. His hands gradually left her face in favor of areas of the rest of her body. Their tongues met. He commenced toying with the buttons on her shirt. Hermione's hands had gone up to rest on his shoulders. His fingers began to flick open the bottom buttons of her top and she noticed that her hands followed his shoulders down because he was dropping to his knees.

The brunette pulled away for a second time.

"Harry," she repeated. The wizard peered up and met her questioning, wary gaze.

"Hermione. It's _okay_ ," declared Harry. His eyes were full of resolve and she tried to focus on that look as she gave an imperceptible nod 15 seconds later. She swallowed a lump in her throat as he opened the third button from the bottom and kissed the exposed bit of her stomach, his right hand caressing her thigh.

Hermione was noted for her intelligence so she should have known why Harry had gone from standing before her to kneeling before her- known what his intention was. And there most likely was a part of her that was aware, but the shock she experienced from having the bottom half of her clothing removed (including her panties) and having his _head_ between _her legs_ was nothing short of remarkable. The gasp she gave was tremendous as her eyes became as big as tires and her head banged against the wall, mouth agape. Her fingers curled tightly in his unruly, black strands as she felt his tongue probe and prod, and when it flicked the tiny nub responsible for pure pleasure, Hermione cried out.

She had never had a mouth on her before and it was unbelievable.

"H-H-Harry," the witch stammered.

"Shhh. Just enjoy it," Harry informed her in a placating tone before using his tongue for the other purpose he had given it.

Enjoy it Hermione did. It did not take more than a minute for reservations she had to disappear. Her fingers remained glued in his hair as continuous, delightful sounds left her throat and her eyes closed of their own accord. When Harry put her right leg over his left shoulder, she shuddered at the feel of him moving further into her. When she slowly began humping her hips against his face, she did not notice but he did, and it enticed him to smirk before putting more vigor into his work.

When Hermione's climax was coaxed out of her by Harry's convincing tongue, the brunette locked his head into place and bucked wildly against him, panting harshly and thinking she wanted to feel this way forever. She was breathless when she finished and went limp, allowing Harry to finally move from between her thighs and stand up once more. He gazed at her, appearing satisfied, and she stared back with slightly dazed eyes.

"Think of that as an apology," he stated, eyes taking in her red face and stunned expression, "You can pick the reason. God knows there are loads."

Harry then placed a rapid kiss on Hermione's lips (giving her a brief taste of _her_ ) before moving away for the fireplace. He grabbed a hand of Floo powder and threw it inside, calling out the name of his home before turning back to her once more.

"See you," he noted. He flashed a large smirk and then stepped forward to disappear among green flames. Hermione, for her part, slid down the wall shortly after he had gone, mind and body still reeling from the unforgettable apology Harry had just given her.

* * *

After Hermione's head cleared from her first bout of (amazing) oral sex, a part of her wondered (and worried) if Harry expected her to jump back into bed with him. No, he had not asked for the favor in return or hinted at wanting sex, but what if he expected it the next time they saw one another? As such, there was a bit of trepidation three days later when she was in in the confines of Grimmauld once more, but the entire visit passed without Harry trying to _make_ a pass at her. It remained the same after another trip and even when he ventured to her apartment for a second time (much to her excitement), although he did look pointedly at the wall and winked at her before taking his leave that day.

So, by the third time Hermione visited Grimmauld after the wall incident, she did not question sitting in his lap in the library, fully clothed but with enough exposure for him to be sheathed inside of her, while their lips worked furiously together and his hands helped to roll her hips against him. (And she had whined when Harry buried himself, and he hissed 'Fuck, _yesss_ ' upon feeling her walls encase him). She did not question or feel conflicted about it. By this time, Hermione had been effectively lulled back into a sexual relationship with him that held a promise of safety. She felt safe that Harry did not want her company purely for sex and she felt safe in the belief that something wonderful had changed between them since their fight. With this feeling of security, sleeping with him again felt right to the brunette.

Ron had been aware of the month long rift between Hermione and Harry as the witch had told him, although she lied about the real reason for the discord since the red head was still unaware of the physical intimacy between the other two. (Hermione did not exactly feel good about this but she would feel worse if he found out the truth). Accordingly, Ron could sense the relief and hope that radiated from her when she told him they had reconciled. He listened to her Harry reports each week while they were at the Burrow, strolling around wizarding London, or sitting at the table in his and George's apartment.

He listened to Hermione declare that things with Harry seemed significantly different now following their spat and he saw the mild _joy_ that she had because of it. She was joyful about it. About Harry. And, while Ron was glad that she was happy, he was also forlorn when he heard her updates. The pureblood had stopped expecting contact with Harry long ago but Hermione's contact with him was a reminder that he, Ron, had likely lost the relationship with his longest standing, closest friend. He reasoned that he would not even recognize the dark haired wizard now.

Hermione, ever observant, noticed the dejected demeanor that would befall Ron (that he tried to hide) when she spoke about Harry. When she vocalized that she believed the time may be right to attempt to reintegrate Ron back into Harry's life, the red head gave her a sad smile; when she promised him that she was serious about it, he projected his years long affection for her into another smile, although he was not particularly hopeful.

Hermione was unsure how Harry would react but she was going to keep her promise to Ron. Harry _never_ mentioned his once best friend (apart from accusing her of having sex with him) but things were _good_ with him (and the sex was even better than before!) and he was leaving Grimmauld more, so there was a chance he might be more receptive to at least hearing about Ron. He was making many changes! Hermione did not think Harry would immediately invite the red head over for tea but if she could plant the seed, that was all that mattered.

Things were good and she would take advantage of them.

And these things began to gradually change. Or more so, they began to revert.

There was one weekend afternoon Hermione ventured forth and brought up Ron. Harry had been rather out of it all week, in the witch's mind. He had missed dinner at her place at the start of the week and had not contacted her the entire night, and when she visited Grimmauld in the middle of the week he contributed little to the conversation and appeared disinterested overall. He seemed to be slightly better on her Sunday visit and let slip that he had gone out the previous night (to drink, for which she tampered her frown).

The pair had finished a second round of sex and Hermione was watching him redress, fiddling with the duvet of the bed. They had not been intimate when she visited a few days previously and Harry had been dominant today, something she usually liked.

"What's the matter?" he asked in a crisp tone, pulling up his zipper.

"What?" the brunette answered, jumping a tad. Her hands stopped their fiddling.

"It's obvious you want to say something. What is it?"

It was silent for a tick while Hermione debated how to broach the subject and Harry grabbed his shirt off the floor.

"I wanted to mention Ron," she admitted. He stopped moving and gave her a hard stare.

"What about him?"

"I… I meet with him. I've told you this. And of course I do- he's my best friend. He was… he was _ours_ , before the war ended."

Harry continued to stare at her harshly and she plowed on when he did not interject.

"I tell him some things about you, Harry, b-because he wants to know. He wants to know how you're doing! He cares and-" commenced Hermione.

"Well I don't," he bluntly said. Her face fell.

"Harry-"

"I don't care, Hermione."

"Why? Tell me why!," she avidly remarked, "You just stopped caring about him once Voldemort was stopped? I don't believe that! Why do you act like you don't even know he exists?!"

"What do you want me to do? Have lunch with him?" Harry snidely questioned.

"Yes!"

He snorted at her response.

"Yeah, like you do, eh?," he prompted, "You said you tell him things. Does he know we're shagging?"

Hermione appeared chagrined and Harry smirked at her expression although she did not look away from him. He chuckled in a sinister tone as he turned his attention back to his clothes.

"He was your _best_ friend, Harry! You let me back in but not Ron! Why! Why am I any different?!" the witch demanded. She hit the bed and chose to ignore his comment.

"Well I can't fuck Ron, now can I?" he wondered, sounding utterly nonchalant.

Her mouth dropped open. She could not ignore _this_ comment, especially as it doused her with pure anger. Taking unsteady breaths, Hermione hopped up and stormed into his bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Harry watched her nude form rush past with a quirked eyebrow; he rolled his eyes once she was inside and finished shimmying into his shirt.

Harry's curt, inconsiderate manner persisted. His attitude, his actions- he was back to how he had been before their fight. It hurt Hermione to have the relative goodness of before slip away and to be faced with a dismissive Harry once again. Conversely, the primary difference now was that she would call him out; she would say something about his behavior and she was no longer above forgoing visits to Grimmauld for days at a time. Nevertheless, it was disheartening for Hermione. She had believed (or wanted to believe) that things with Harry had improved and that they would last.

Perhaps it had all been a ploy to lure her back onto his side, to craftily ensure that she would be under his thumb again. Manipulation. When the disappointment became too great for Hermione, she unloaded her frustration and sadness on Harry. This so happened to be after arriving to his house one evening for a visit and quickly being informed that he did not have more than 20 minutes to spare for her due to prior plans.

"I come and visit you. Dutifully! _I_ do! Does anyone else bother to do that? _No_! And it's mostly because you've run everyone else off!," she stated with tightly curled fists, "You also hate being out in public so you tell me exactly what kind of plans you have, Harry! Tell me why you're running me out after I carved out time to come see you after a very hectic day at the Ministry!"

"Truthfully, it's not really your business to know what plans I have, Hermione." Harry told her with folded arms, "Something came up."

The witch's lips trembled as she stared at him and tears started to cloud her vision. Gosh, she was so tired… literally, after her day, but she was also feeling this way about the man in front of her, at last.

"I do so much for you, Harry. _So_ much! I _always_ have! And this is how you're treating me, like I'm an inconvenience. I've never given a single person as much as I've given you, to _help_ you!, and you treat me like this…"

"No one made you. I certainly never forced you."

Hermione's face twisted as hurt shot through her. How had things gotten back to this point and why did they seem worse in some ways than before?

"I gave up my safety for you countless times. I gave up my last year of school for you. I gave up Ron for you- _twice_! On the hunt and now, because I spend more time with you, this callous version of you, than I do him! I even gave up my own goddamn _parents_ for you!," she yelled, shaking her head as tears fell, "And now you've become this insensitive cad who makes me wonder why I'm still doing this, why I'm still helping you or being here for you or being used by you, or however you want to label it!"

"I'm no-" Harry began after a pregnant pause before she cut across him.

"I don't have to be here. I don't have to be here and I don't _need_ to be here from what you show me. You don't have the time for me anyway. Twenty minutes, right?" Hermione wiped her eyes and stalked to the fireplace in order to Floo out of Grimmauld, refusing to look at him and lacking the desire to do so.

"I hope your other _plans_ go smoothly," she bid with false sincerity. She stepped forward into the hearth and held her head higher than she felt, shuddering with emotion as the flames roared over her.

Four days later when she returned home from an outing with Ginny, there was another trinket from the Potter vault waiting for her on her bedside table.

* * *

A/N: I underestimated the length on yet _another_ fic of mine so, turns out, this story will have 3 chapters instead of two. (I'm ridiculous).


	3. Chapter 3

**To Forgive a Stone Heart**

Hermione shifted the gold letter opener from her right hand to her left as she prepared to knock upon the front door of Grimmauld Place. It had been a number days since she found it on her bedside table; the word 'Potter' that was embedded on it (and written in beautiful calligraphy) had revealed its origin, although she would have been able to tell who sent it even without the obvious indicator. Seeing it had made her feel notably better and told her that Harry regretted their last exchange, but she realized that she could not keep it as she had the snuff box. He needed to learn to _talk_ to her again when there was conflict and not rely on gifts to show his remorse, and Hermione thought returning the item to him in person would be a good foray into doing this. It could perhaps be another small turning point for them. She would have to take the lead, of course, but she was willing when he gave signs like this that the old Harry was still in there.

Hermione was on the verge of knocking when the door was abruptly pulled open from the inside. (She was not using the Floo because they were not back in a good enough place for her to use something so familiar; it had been just over a week since their last spat, the last time they spoke). Surprised, the brunette reared her body back to avoid colliding with the person coming out of the building, whom happened to be a woman she had never seen before in her life. More surprise flooded Hermione. This woman was blonde- very cute- and a couple inches shorter than the Muggleborn. There was a cheerful expression on her face that made room for her own surprise when she spotted Hermione.

"Oh!," the blonde uttered, stopping short, "Hello!"

"H-Hello." Hermione responded, furrowing her brow. She did not move but it did not matter. The other woman smiled brightly at her before stepping around her and continuing on her way, but she swiveled back around before she got too far.

"Bye, Harry," she bid, her smile becoming saucier.

Hermione rapidly spun back to face the door (as she had watched the blonde's progression) and was met with the sight of Harry. A shirtless Harry without glasses who was sporting a smirk. The brunette's heart plummeted as she peered at him.

She could not think of what to say and merely stared at him, clutching the letter opener in her hand. Her mind was going rampant with questions of who that woman was while it ignored the evident question of what she had been doing there, likely because Hermione already knew the answer and did not like it. (Maybe the answer to _that_ question is what was filling her body with dread).

"Hermione," the wizard began in a cool, even tone, "What are you doing here?"

The witch's mind continued to race as she remained quiet and maintained eye contact. When Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, she blinked multiple times before raising her left hand, finally looking away from him and down at the opener.

"Oh. You _did_ get it, then" he mentioned, "I sent it days ago but didn't hear from you, so. Figured you were still sore."

Hermione stayed silent and Harry appraised her, allowing a satisfied smile to take control of his features while her eyes were not on him.

"Do you want to come in?" he asked. The witch nodded but by the time she raised her eyes he was already walking back inside his home.

Harry led Hermione to the main sitting room while her rushed thoughts persisted. A woman. Another woman…. Where did he meet her? How long had he known her? Did she know who Hermione was? Were there other people Harry was consorting with that she did not know? Did he meet with her or with other people when he did get out of Grimmauld? What… what did they have in common? Was she a _good_ person?

How long had he been sleeping with her?

Hermione closed her eyes at this thought, suppressing the small sob that wanted to leave her. Out of all the questions she had about this mystery woman, this one stood out the most to her, _mattered_ the most to her, even though it was likely not the most important one. But it was the one that made her want to drop the letter opener, Apparate home, and curl in a ball in her bed and release that sob (and many more).

Once again, Hermione felt like an utter fool. Like she was the jester in Harry's royal court and His Majesty was not a merciful king. It was shameful.

"So?" a male voice prompted. The brunette snapped out of her mind trap and looked around. They were in the sitting room, both standing, and he was gazing at her. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had not even registered the trek.

Hermione peered back at Harry and the image of the blonde's happy face returned. Were there _more_ women besides the blonde? Was he with other women during the times they did not speak? _You are_ such _a fool,_ she told herself, _to even_ think _he cares about you as he once did!... There is no Old Harry anymore. He died. Voldemort died and so did my best friend._ My _Harry._

"Yes," she commenced in a raspy voice. She cleared her throat and ordered herself to not start crying. It seemed to be too late for that, "Erm, here." Hermione crossed the space between them and placed the opener in his hand before swallowing and stepping back.

"Thank you. But I can't accept it," she noted. Harry's eyebrows pulled downward.

"Why?" he pondered.

"Because I can't do this anymore."

"Do _what_ anymore?"

"This dance with you." Hermione stated. She saw his jaw immediately tense and his hand tightly grip the opener.

Her intention upon coming to Grimmauld had not been to put a stop to this emotional rollercoaster they had been on since Harry let her back into his life. It had been for her to persuade him to engage in a healthier way of communication and to try to help him open up again, but as the words left her mouth, Hermione recognized this is what was needed. For her. The blonde woman had put everything into immediate perspective, as jarring as it had been to see her strolling out of the townhome. This back and forth with Harry would _not_ end until Hermione put a stop to it. The king would not willingly let go of the jester.

"What dance, Hermione?" Harry snapped.

"The dance where you treat me horribly, like I'm a nuisance, interspersed with moments when you're caring and soft, before we get into a fight, don't speak, and the entire cycle starts over," she explained, "It's exhausting, Harry. And that's not even to make mention of the confusing sex-"

"Which you participate in!"

"Which you don't need me for because you are obviously getting it elsewhere!"

The wizard narrowed his eyes and took a long moment to study her before replying.

"Is that what this is _really_ about? That's why you can't 'do this anymore'? All of a sudden? Because you saw another witch leave my house?" Harry inquired.

"It's not all of a sudden. I just-"

"You're the one who insisted- who _yelled_ \- that we are not together when I thought you were shagging someone else," he forcefully interjected, "You said it was none of my business if you were, that you could sleep with anyone you pleased! And you were completely right, Hermione. Don't you like being right all the time? You were right and I realized it applied to me as well! Deny that you said all those things!"

Hermione scowled at him as her breathing picked up, knowing she could not deny it because she _had_ said all those things. Said all those truths. She _had_ been right. And he was right. She could not be upset or angry if he was having sex with different women because they were not in a monogamous relationship; just because Harry was the only person she went to bed with did not mean he had to follow suit. (She was faithful in a not-relationship, how droll)! God, he was right, but why did it feel so wrong?

Harry smiled in sinister victory when she said nothing.

"How funny that you can't 'do this dance' with me anymore only after coming across my visitor today! How funny and how predictable," he remarked before carelessly throwing the letter opener off to his right side. The brunette watched it be tossed aside, a deep sadness suddenly penetrating her.

"I think I should go," she quietly attested after a heavy tick of silence.

Harry grit his teeth, clamping down on shock. He had not expected this response. He expected (wanted) her to bite back, to keep the confrontation moving forward, but she was giving up? Quitting? It ignited anger in him without warning.

"So, what- that's what you came over for? This is it? You're leaving me alone for good?" His tone was mocking but there was wrath in his eyes. Hermione shuddered a bit as she inhaled and then met his gaze, the sadness apparent in her eyes.

"I don't know," the brunette admitted. She quickly turned on her heel and exited the room, leaving through the front door and wondering if this would actually be the last time she set foot in Grimmauld Place.

* * *

It was the longest amount of time Hermione went without contact with Harry.

During this time, she had a long, vulnerable conversation with Ron in which she revealed the full truth of her interactions with Harry: of his banal, cold treatment of her, of their fights over it, and of their sexual relationship. She was tearful as she admitted this to him and was crying faintly by the time she apologized to the red head for keeping the truth from him, and for doing it in the first place. Ron had a few feelings about her revelation (including disappointment, mild wistfulness, and a good amount of hurt) but he assured Hermione she had nothing for which to apologize. In truth, he was mostly angry with Harry and expressed as much, asserting that he wanted to break his former best friend in half. She, in turn, felt overwhelming relief at his support and assured him breaking the other wizard in half was unnecessary as she was done suffering at Harry's hands.

Hermione also began to accept the romantic gestures of a man who was neither Ron nor Harry during this time. Troy Heathcliff was a former Ravenclaw, two years her senior, and a Ministry employee like her. He had shown interest in her from almost the moment she commenced working at the Ministry and had been more obvious with his intentions within the past three months. Hermione, however, had always politely turned him down and she now recognized that it had been primarily due to Harry. Had her unconscious mind been holding out for him? Considered it a betrayal somehow to let another man court her? The lasting distance from Harry allowed her to now question why she had consistently turned Troy away. For what? For a bitter young man who seemed to care about no one and nothing, not even himself? Well Harry's bitterness would no longer ensnare Hermione, and the next time Troy asked her out, she accepted.

Harry, during this time, did not appear bothered by the separation from Hermione. (Not initially, anyway). He carried on with his life and his doings and felt indifference when he did think of the brown haired witch. He was also proud of himself for not sending her letters and not desiring to send them, unlike the first time she had walked out. But… she had come back after the first rift because of those letters, and it had taken a month. This time, a month passed and she remained absent. Another half a month came and went and she was still gone... and that is when Harry's thoughts about her started to cascade beyond his control.

The memory of their very last conversation, of her uncertainty if she was removing herself from his life indefinitely, was on a continual loop in Harry's brain. Had she been serious? No, of course not…! Then what was she doing with her life? Why had it been eight weeks since he had last seen Hermione's face or heard her voice? Well, she was working, he knew, and he could go to the Ministry and see for himself. Harry never would because the idea of dealing with the onslaught of attention he would receive was abhorrent, but he had contemplated arriving unannounced at her apartment or even her parents' home more than once (about two dozen times, actually). She was also likely spending time with friends (his former friends, which made him roll his eyes) but he was not entirely sure because he had no knowledge of her social circle outside of Ron.

And then, one day, Harry got a _good_ glimpse into her social circle, courtesy of the _Prophet_. A revealing glimpse into the people (or person) she was spending time with... and it made him see red.

He had stopped reading periodicals the autumn after ridding of Voldemort but he had grabbed a copy of the newspaper on a whim while out one afternoon, choosing to take it home instead of claiming a spot at a cafe to read (because he had already tired of the recognition that had been heaped on him for the day). There was one article Harry read in full as he sat at his kitchen table, his countenance becoming more indignant with each word that his eyes took in, and it was all about Hermione. All about Hermione and some _tosser_ who looked like the epitome of a pushover named Troy Heathcliff, picture included. They had apparently been spotted on a number of "cozy" dates around wizarding England, and weren't they just all smiles and cozy looking in the photo? Adorable!

The paper caught fire when Harry finished reading and his chest heaved with the effort of his breathing. No, no- this would not do. He _had_ to speak to Hermione. It was like she was teasing him with that wily display the _Prophet_ had captured! _Troy Heathcliff_ … Harry thought of the name with disdain. The next thought he had was one that had passed through his mind 24 times before now, and this time he knew he would act on the idea of showing up at her apartment.

The sound of Hermione's doorbell was a sound not often heard. Accordingly, her brow was drawn as she padded to the front of her apartment from the comfort of her bed where she had been caught up in a nice book. When she put her eye to the peephole and saw the person on the other side, she stopped breathing for a brief stint.

She deliberated what to do as her heart started to beat faster. It had been a couple months since they last spoke and she had no idea what he could possibly want. She had thought about him, no doubt, but it was shocking to have him here, in person. And out of the blue! And by _his_ doing! Not a single word had passed between them in numerous weeks. The bell rang again and was shortly followed by steady knocks as Hermione stared at the barrier.

Sighing in resignation and trepidation, she moved back and opened the door for the person on the other side. The witch swallowed as she and Harry stared at each other. (The small but indisputable consolation she received upon looking at his face felt like a personal affront). She broke the stillness first when she murmured his name.

"Harry."

"Hermione," he responded, a smile appearing, "Long time no see, yeah?" She gave a miniscule nod.

It was quiet again as they continued to peer at one another.

"May I come in?' he inquired.

"Erm, yes."

Hermione moved back to allow the wizard inside and he went after flashing another (smaller) smile. He followed her to the living room and checked out her apartment on the way to see if anything had changed. When they were facing each other once more, she rubbed her left arm and gazed at him, appearing unsure.

"Would you like tea?" she proposed.

"Yes, please."

Happy to have a break in order to allow herself a chance to compose herself (and think), she walked into her kitchen with Harry still standing. When she returned a few minutes later with two cups and saucers, she felt more settled and observed that he was now sitting on the sofa, having a staring contest with a still Crookshanks who was perched in front of him. He reached out to finally pet the cat as Hermione put the tea on the coffee table but the feline was not having it. Crookshanks deftly moved to the left of Harry's hand before swatting at it.

"Crookshanks," the brunette called, a tad surprised at her pet's reaction to Harry. He was always one to seek and accept attention from the man in front of him. Crookshanks turned to her with a pointed look before standing on all fours and leaving the room.

"Suppose I did something to offend him." Harry mused, turning to face Hermione as she sat down on the same sofa (with a respectable distance between them).

He showed half a smile before inclining his head in thanks and picking up his cup. She gave a cursory smile in response to his, noting how amiable he was being. And with the smiling… it felt kind of odd. She took a few leisurely sips of her tea while he did the same.

"What brought you by, Harry?" Hermione calmly pondered. She had wondered about asking him what he had been up to but realized the question was likely loaded and pointless. He set down his cup.

"Well I wasn't sure that I'd ever see you again if I hadn't," Harry stated, smirking without malice. She glanced at him, "I also wanted to talk."

"You did- _do_?"

"Yes."

Her heart throbbed with hope. This is what she had wanted for so long, to get Harry to talk! To share and be honest about what he was thinking and feeling. That had been her original plan the day she went to Grimmauld and stumbled upon the blonde.

"Though, I wanted to give you something first," he supplied. Hermione gave him a heedful look as he removed something from his pocket.

"Don't worry- it's nothing from my vault," stated Harry, his smirk back, "I know you wouldn't take it."

"I still have the snuff box. And it's not that I didn't want the letter opener, Harry, it's that I wanted to talk about the problem more. I want words, not gifts."

He gazed at her steadfastly before nodding twice. She wanted words, did she? Well he would more than deliver! Harry then handed her what he had taken out: paper. Hermione unfolded it with curiosity and saw that it was a newspaper article; when she saw the headline and picture, her chest tightened and she temporarily stopped breathing. She was assaulted with a bounty of thoughts and emotion as she stared at the print but did not read it. (There was no need, for she had already read this article as it was about her. Her and Troy).

Harry's presence now seemed sinister.

"So let's talk, Hermione! Troy Heathcliff." Harry declared. His smile and affable tone of voice had not wavered but she suddenly realized why it had struck her as odd before. While the majority of his expression appeared friendly, his eyes did not. There was a hard gleam in them and it was directed right at her.

Hermione could not speak but she felt livid and woeful. She continued to gaze at the three day old _Prophet_ article and chastised herself yet again for feeling _any_ kind of hope, no matter how precarious, because he had shown up on her doorstep. The young woman's silence did not appear to bother Harry because he plowed on.

"Troy Heathcliff!," he cheerfully commenced, "Two years above us at Hogwarts. Ravenclaw. Works in the International Magical Office of Law. He's had two promotions in two years, which is impressive! Lives in Amersham but grew up in Whitstable. Charming. Has he taken you to visit Mum and Dad there or is it still too soon?"

She glared at him then. It was piercing and his smile did not fall but the hardness in his eyes intensified. Hermione crumpled the paper and threw it at him before shooting up and stalking to her kitchen. Harry was right on her heels and followed her out of the living room.

"His last relationship was about a year ago. Dated some transfer in his department from the Spanish Ministry. She's still there. They're cordial, from what I hear," he shared, looking at the back of her hair, "And he's been interested in _you_ for-"

"What do you want, Harry?!" the brunette demanded, whirling to face him. He had gotten information about Troy, somehow, and the knowledge that he had researched him, gone out of his way to be invasive, infuriated her.

At last, finally, the wizard's smile disappeared and his true feelings shone through.

"To know why you're wasting your time with this pillock."

"Despite everything you just spouted off about him, you know nothing of what he is like! You come to talk about _this_ after two months of no contact? This what brought you here?!"

"It was hard to ignore the idiocy of what you've been doing during these two months, you see! Especially when it's splashed all over the newspaper." Harry claimed.

"It has nothing to do with you! I don't come to your home and interrogate you about what you-" Hermione mentioned.

"Not anymore, anyway! Not since you swore off ever going back because your feelings got hurt!"

"Well who's the one with hurt feelings now?!"

An ugly expression dominated his face as he glowered at her. She took a deep breath and wiped a hand over her face.

"Two months, Harry, and _this_ is what you come to talk about. Fight about," she remarked in an unsteady voice.

"I'm just doing what you've wanted all this time. You've been so big on me talking! How was I to know the subject matter wouldn't be to your liking? I thought you'd be thrilled for a chance to talk about _Troy_!" he mocked.

"You should leave."

Hermione made to leave the kitchen which surprised Harry before he appeared affronted.

"Hermione-" he said, reaching out to stop her. The witch, however, rapidly stepped away from him.

"You cannot control the people- the _men_ \- I spend time with! You have no power over that! I don't belong to you!" she yelled.

"That's not what you said the last time I was between your legs," he snarled, taking a step toward her, "Or are you only mine when I'm making your cunny drip?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she peered at him, flabbergasted. _He_ … God. The vulgarity. Who _was_ this person standing before her?

"You need to leave. Immediately," she directed. Her voice was trembling again.

"Don't like hearing the truth? Maybe you weren't as keen on me talking as you thought." Harry stated.

"Get _out_ , Harry!"

The tea kettle she had used earlier then came flying menacingly toward him from its place in the kitchen and he ducked right before it hit him. The brunette's fists were balled and her eyes were closed in an attempt to stop tears from falling but she opened them when she heard the kettle clatter to the floor. Harry growled in his throat at her accidental burst of magic before standing to his full height once more. He fixed her with a hateful glare and then stormed past her to the door, which he slammed shut on his way out. A painting that had been a birthday gift from her parents fell to the floor from the impact, startling Crookshanks, who had come from the back and, now, meowed at his owner in concern.

Two weeks later, Ronald Weasley sat across a table from Harry Potter. The tension and magic between them was thick as they gazed shrewdly at one another. They were both so engrossed with the wizard across from him that they were oblivious to the pandemonium their presence was causing. A vast crowd was pressed greedily against the restaurant's windows with reporters at the front, their cameras snapping away nonstop. The patrons inside could not hear or approach them thanks to _Muffliato_ and Repellent Charms but that did not stop them from ogling two thirds of the Golden Trio, their food long forgotten.

It was rare enough to see Harry out in public but to see him with Ron? It was a sight _no one_ could afford to ignore.

"Thanks for meeting me, Ron." Harry mentioned, breaking eye contact in order to grab his cup of pumpkin juice. The pureblood's face ticked. It was disconcerting to hear his name come from this specific person.

"Yeah," Ron slowly said, eyes still trained on his former closest friend, "I thought someone was taking the mickey when I got your owl. Thought someone was pretending to be you."

He left out the fact that seeing Harry's messy scrawl (handwriting he had not seen in far too long) is what convinced him. Stunned him but convinced him… and left him feeling distrustful. A letter from Harry out of the blue that invited him to lunch? Something was up. The red head had his suspicions about the nature of the meeting but he would wait for Harry's explanation.

"I can see that," the dark haired wizard acknowledged, sounding amused, "It's been some time since we've seen each other."

"Yes. To put it lightly."

A stint of silence passed in which Harry fought off a venal smile and then he prompted:

"What've you been up to?"

"Helping George with the shop. It's doing well." Ron reported in the same, guarded tone, "What've _you_ been up to?"

"This and that. Getting by on my vault while I decide what to do with my Voldemort free life." (The pureblood wanted to snort, knowing he was doing much more than 'getting by' with the combined wealth of the Potter and Black accounts).

"I'm sure it's been a lot to handle."

Harry did not respond to this but smiled wolfishly.

"How's your family?" he questioned. Ron cracked with this inquiry. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, shifting in his seat.

"Do you really care?" he wondered.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because, _Harry_ , I doubt that you actually want to know. If you gave a damn about my family, you'd have responded to the letters and Floo calls from my parents the couple months after You-Know-Who fell! You'd have replied to Bill's and Charlie's attempts. You'd _not_ have said or done something to my sister that left her in tears, and you'd not have left me standing outside of Grimmauld for months, begging for you to let me in!"

Quiet, yet again, while Harry gazed at the red head and still looked rather entertained.

"There's a lot of resentment there, I see," the dark haired wizard commented, crossing his arms.

"Yes, there is," Ron confirmed in a flat voice, "And I don't want to sit here and pretend with you longer than I have to, so why don't you tell me why you _really_ wanted to meet. Tell me how this is about Hermione." There was very telling silence while Harry's jaw ticked, as Ron's had.

"You sound so sure of yourself," he claimed.

"Could it be anything else? She's the one link that still exists between us. And she's been avoiding you- ignoring you- for weeks now. So I imagine how upset that makes you, upset enough to reach out to _me_ in hopes of getting to her. A new level of desperation."

"Think you know everything?" Harry wondered in a biting tone, unfolding his arms. The red head had hit a nerve and Harry's taunting manner ended.

"Oh, I know enough!," Ron answered, leaning forward, "I know what happened the last time she stepped inside Grimmauld. I know she doesn't want to go back there. I know _you_ showed up at her flat and she forced you out. I know you're threatened by who she's dating."

"Yes, you know all this from the Harry reports she graciously gives you! 'I tell him things about you, Harry, because he cares!' Were _you_ the desperate one to ask for updates about my life?"

The pureblood scowled at the other man while Harry leaned forward himself, a vindictive smile overtaking his mouth.

"And you think _I'm_ threatened? You want to talk about knowledge?," he prompted, "Did she tell you that we became bed buddies? That we got to know one another _very_ well?"

Ron's countenance became dark. He involuntarily squared his shoulders and the magic between them sparked.

"Yes," he spat.

"Oh! I'm surprised! Must've been recent! Didn't seem like she was in any rush to share that with you…"

"Well I think you ruined any and all chances of sharing a bed with her ever again, so, we've both got our problems."

"And how much did that hurt, Ron? To hear that, when she first told you?," Harry savagely asked, his hands curled into fists on the table, "You've always wanted it to be you… with everything but especially with Hermione! How did it feel to hear that she was letting _me_ shag her senseless? How does it feel to hear that _Heathcliff_ may have taken up my mantle? Maybe I can give him some tips on how to make her moan _just_ right if!-"

There was a bang of the table and it jumped between them. The pair's observers could not hear the dialogue between them but they could definitely see the incensed look on Ron's face and the truculent one on Harry's. The two wizards stared each other down.

"Do not say another word about her," the red head warned through bared teeth.

"All this protectiveness!," Harry sneered, "Where the hell was it when that _twat_ came into her life? Why not direct this oh so intimidating anger toward Heathcliff?!"

"She is happy! I'm not going to interfere with that and I wouldn't want to! I can't dictate what she gets up to, who she sees or dates! I don't have that right and you definitely don't!"

"I can do whatever the hell I want."

"You're miserable, Harry, and you were making her miserable. She is _loads_ better without you," Ron asserted while pointing a finger, "Stop harassing her. Leave her alone; I mean it. You fucked up and it's no one's fault but your own. You drove away the one person who was still on your side. Stay away from Hermione."

There was no residual sorrow to be felt for Ron, no bitter wish for things to be different between them- to have back what they had. The damage had been wrought on their relationship by the purposeful time apart imposed by Harry and the red head had accepted it. All he felt now was fury and determination on Hermione's behalf to keep her out of this twisted man's way, to protect her from his toxicity.

"Or what? You'll come to Grimmauld and wait on my doorstep again if I don't?," Harry wondered in a scornful tone, "I would look forward to it this time!"

The dark haired wizard then scraped back in his chair and abruptly stood up. He grabbed a hefty handful of Galleons from his money bag and threw them carelessly in front the pureblood, watching as two bounced on the surface and fell off on either side of Ron.

"Enjoy the rest of your meal. It's on me," he bid.

Ron told Hermione about his meeting with Harry but multiple periodicals also boasted about the reunion between the famous pair, each one postulating what the topic conversation had been (since the hostility between the men was apparent in their body language and facial expressions). He left out the nastier aspects of the conversation but his general report was still enough to infuriate the witch. In fact, Hermione was so troubled that she fire called Harry two days after the disaster lunch, something that was both shocking and not shocking for him.

Consequently, the brunette knew he would take the call and her ire was expressed the moment he came into view.

"Stop it, Harry! Just STOP it!," Hermione shouted, glaring at him, "Why can't you just accept that you need to stop interfering with my life! It is absolutely _none_ of your business! My affairs are none of your business! I will _not_ change what I do or whom I see for you! I don't know how many times I need to say this!"

Harry matched her fuming expression with his own and had no time to reflect that this was the first time he was seeing or speaking to her since his trip to her apartment. (The length of time between their points of connection was only increasing…).

"Ron told you, did he? Of course he did," he spat.

"You, you used him! What was your purpose for even meeting with him?!"

"But I thought _you_ wanted me to have lunch with him, Hermione? He and I talked! Something you've desired for ages!"

"I don't desire anything from you anymore, Harry. You've… you're going too far. You are pushing me too far. I won't carry on this way," she relayed, sorrow creeping into her tone, "You're making me regret that you ever let me into Grimmauld that day."

Harry took in a severe inhale of breath although Hermione did not hear it. He felt a jolt of emotion that was reminiscent of hurt and fear, and they had only begun to manifest on his countenance before they were buried under an explosion of anger.

"How bleeding delusional are you, Hermione?! Do you honestly think this _thing_ with that man will last? That he could ever care about you to that degree! That he could ever _love_ you?! Spare me the fairy tale bullshite! No man can or will, do you hear me? No other man is capable! They will all want something from you, see you as something! Take advantage of you! Disappointment- that is all you will get! _I_ died for you, or have you forgotten that? _I_ did! I died for all of you! And it is _insulting_ to sit here and watch you prance about with Troy Fucking Heathcliff like he will ever be able to give you a _smidgen_ of what I can!"

It was difficult to breathe and his vision was blurred with black dots but he did not look away from the Muggleborn. Furniture had moved on its own during his tirade yet all he saw was the distress on her face in the silence.

"I hope this corrosive part of you has truly gone the next time I hear from you, Harry. Because that is the _only_ way I will want to hear from you," she claimed in a hushed voice.

In the following instant, Hermione's head was gone and his fireplace was still once more.

For the following 48 hours, Harry obsessed over what to do. He considered going to the Ministry and having a conversation with Heathcliff where he told him horrible, distressing things about Hermione most people did not know (most of which were fabricated). He considered going to the Ministry in order to hex Heathcliff within an inch of his life while warning the other man to stay away from her. And he considered going to the Ministry and beating the shit out of Heathcliff the Muggle way, no magic involved, badly enough to put the other wizard in St. Mungo's. In the end, conversely, Harry devised a distinctly satisfying plan that would yield more rewarding and lasting results than merely injuring the other wizard. What was even better was that this plan would not be connected back to him in any way.

* * *

The blonde woman emitted loud, open mouthed huffs as she slumped against the bare torso of the man who held her. Her brown eyes closed halfway and there seemed to be a pleasant buzz humming through her head. Her body was positively sated and this feeling was now seeping to her mind. She typically felt good whenever they got a chance to do this (which usually depended on her partner's mood) but today had been a real treat.

"Special occasion today, Harry?," she asked, breath still coming in labored, " _Not_ that I am complaining!"

The dark haired wizard chuckled and looked down at her golden head, at the way her hair covered her naked back.

"You never do," he claimed.

"Who would?" Yes, what woman in her right mind would complain about being with The Boy Who Lived? About being his lover?! Sometimes it still blew Gemma's mind that he had chosen her.

It was quiet for a minute or so while she recovered and remained nestled against him. Harry rubbed her right arm absently and waited for the right time.

"I _am_ curious about something, however," the wizard noted when she could breathe normally again. Gemma pushed off him a bit to look at him properly.

"What?" she prompted.

"I want to know if you would do me a favor."

"Of course."

"A big favor," he added, grasping her chin. The blonde smiled before answering.

"Of course," she repeated. Harry was the one to grin now.

"I want you to make a new friend."

* * *

A/N: Okay, look. I had a choice to make here about this "last" chapter. It is getting up there in length and the fact that I'm still trying to wrap it up is what has kept me from posting sooner. So I made an executive decision to cut it off at a certain point- _this_ point- just so I could get something out because I'm tired of waiting!

I don't know if I am posting this part now and will repost chapter 3 (in 24 hours) when I have finished the rest, in all its long ass glory, or if I will make this story 4 chapters instead of the 3 I mentioned and just seem like a liar who has no accurate idea of how long her stories really are :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here it is! The last part of this story! I am rolling my eyes at myself because this fic was only supposed to be 2 chapters but I consistently underestimate the length of my stories, so, I don't know why I thought this one would be any different.

 **To Forgive a Stone Heart**

It took six weeks for Gemma's favor to come to a close. It was six weeks of the blonde working Troy Heathcliff. Of being noticeable, friendly, flirty, a bit helpless, and conveniently in the same places at an increasing rate. Harry remained estranged from Hermione during this time and did not speak a single word to her but he kept his tabs on her. He was more than aggravated to see that she still dated Heathcliff but he was even more satisfied; his plan would be more successful, more fruitful, the more she had invested into the prick. Harry had pinged the other wizard as weak and it was proven at the end of the six weeks- proven and photographed. And it had only taken six weeks! He knew Gemma was a good looking woman but it was like Hermione's dear beau had not even tried to resist her. In Harry's mind, Heathcliff was an utter joke and he, Harry, had done the brunette witch a true service.

When Hermione found the envelope waiting for her on her desk when she began work Thursday morning, she had to wait a bit for the privacy magic to fade before she could see its content. When moving pictures were revealed to her, it only took a quarter of an hour before her emotional reaction to these photos overwhelmed her and she had to go home for the day. It was devastating enough to discover the man you were dating cheated on you, but to see exactly how he did it? To see his body sprawled on top of another woman's, his chest on her back… to see her face turned away but her blonde hair in a messy bun, to see his body thrusting into hers on the sofa's cushions? It was too much. And the short message that had come with the pictures: _You deserve better. I'm sorry_. They had only managed to make Hermione feel worse.

She spent the subsequent three days in her apartment as a prisoner to her emotion.

Harry, consequently, gave Hermione a week to mourn before he made his (next) move. He monitored her closely once she returned to work but there was little to monitor as she went home straight away after her shift ended and did not leave for the rest of the evening. As such, he knew to find her at her parents' house this particular night; it was the first time she had been somewhere other than her apartment or the Ministry in seven days.

Darla and Simon Granger were shocked to see Harry at their front door requesting to speak to their daughter. They were also reluctant to let him in. They knew about his falling out with Hermione because the young woman had told them, although she omitted why specifically their relationship had taken such a negative turn. However, when the wizard made it clear in a (faux) polite yet stern manner that he _really_ needed to speak to her and could not imagine leaving until he was able, even if it was just for a minute, the couple relented. Darla went ahead of the men in order to be the one to reach her daughter first so she could give warning, calling out Hermione's name as she ascended the staircase.

By the time Simon and Harry reached Hermione's bedroom door, she was standing in the entryway and staring at them- at Harry. She looked sad but, more than that, she looked chary. He gazed right back and observed that she was dressed in shorts and a tank top (had she planned to sleep here?), something that excited him when combined with her emotional state. Hermione looked wholly vulnerable.

"What are you here?" the witch pondered in a voice that betrayed her level of emotion. Harry glanced at her parents before replying.

"I don't know much, and I had to find out indirectly, but… I know what he did. And I just… I came because..." he remarked. He trailed off for effect but also because a predictable follow up may have been to apologize for her ordeal, and he was not sorry. He was far from sorry, actually.

Hermione dropped her head and took in a large, unstable breath. When her exhale trembled even more and her shoulders started to shake, Harry stepped forward and tentatively put a hand on her upper arm.

"Hermione," he uttered.

In the subsequent moment, a small sob escaped her and she put her face in her hands. Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked at each other in worry but the wizard gathered their daughter in his arms without prompting. Hermione initially froze from the hug but her distress won over her apprehension and she allowed Harry to hold her. Simon and Darla walked away from the pair after an awkward half a minute and went back downstairs. They were conflicted about Harry's presence but if Hermione had accepted his embrace- his consolation- then the situation between them could not be _that_ bad.

The brunette pulled away a minute later and wiped at her face. He watched her and then looked deliberately into her room before peering back in her eyes. She frowned but nodded, and Harry squeezed her hand before going inside her room to sit on her bed. Hermione followed and closed the door.

"So what happened?" he prompted when she plopped down on the bed as well.

"He had sex with another woman," she replied in a resentful tone, "Someone sent me pictures."

"What'd you say to him?"

"Nothing. I sent him one of the pictures and wrote something to the effect that we were over. He tried to approach me at work on Monday but I told him it'd be in his best interest to keep away from me. I threatened blackmail with the photos if he didn't."

"Do you still have them?" Harry questioned.

"No. Why would I? But he doesn't know that." Hermione responded.

Pride. He felt pride at the witch's conniving and a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. Heathcliff had been knocked completely from his perch with no chance of redemption and Harry had not even needed to come face to face with the man. It took effort for him to mask how pacified he was at the moment.

"So did you come to gloat, then? Come to tell me 'I told you so'?" she wondered, peering at him harshly.

"What? No," he negated, caught off guard, "I came because I knew you'd be upset."

"Since when do you care when I'm upset?"

A deep part of Harry was offended. He had cared since he was prepubescent and she should damn well realize that, but he understood that his behavior since Voldemort's demise did not reflect this care, and this is what the brunette meant.

"I care, Hermione. Always." Harry asserted, scowling a tad. _I cared enough to get that good for nothing berk out of your life!_

"Troy claimed he did, too." Hermione pointed out.

" _Troy_ is a fucking idiot."

It came out cruelly and she scoffed as she turned away. A few seconds later, consequently, tears filled her eyes again. Her feelings had been this labile for a week now and she despised it because she felt out of control. She had _just_ been angry and now she was crestfallen once more, and to do this in front of Harry felt like that much more punishment. Hermione wanted to question why she'd let him stay but she did not have the energy.

"I'm sorry. You don't need need me being abrasive right now," he noted, sighing.

That was the first time New Harry had ever apologized to her- she was sure of it. It was also the reason why she broke and began crying in earnest. It had likely not been the best decision to have him here during this (highly emotional) time but, he was, and Hermione felt too defeated to do anything but let him pull her in his arms for a second time. Harry laid them back on the bed without speaking and simply let her weep, something she did on and off for nearly an hour. The two did not talk. Hermione would not have wanted it and she did not need it and he understood this. She needed comfort and he was more than willing to provide it. He was good at giving her physical comfort.

It started with a lingering kiss on her forehead that progressed into short pecks before he commenced leaving the small kisses on her cheeks, nose, and above her eyes. Harry went back to her forehead to place a firm kiss while he wrapped her tighter in his embrace. The wizard waited a few moments and then lifted her face up to his so he could give Hermione's lips a soft kiss. She accepted his kisses, even the one to her mouth, but she wrenched her head away when it deepened.

"Hey. Let me make you feel better," he quietly offered, "After what he did…. Let me. Please. I want you to feel better."

Hermione shook her head and burrowed it into his chest, sobbing once. Harry let another couple minutes pass for her to sniffle and mewl before he tried again. He moved so their faces were aligned once more and kissed her. The brunette did not break it this time although her tears interfered and made it a wet affair, but it did not deter Harry. He kissed her harder and soon rolled them over so he was on top of Hermione. She wrapped her arms around his neck while her crying became more persistent.

It did not take long to become clear that Harry wanted to make her feel better with more than just a snog. He caressed her legs, rubbed himself against her, rubbed her through her shorts. When their lips were no longer the only body parts that were throbbing, he asked in a croaky voice:

"Will you let me?"

Hermione turned her head to the left and closed her eyes, face twisting again in emotion. She did not answer but she did bring her legs in closer around his middle, and Harry took it as an affirmation. His breathing picked up and he moved hurriedly to push her legs apart (in contrast to what she had just done) in order to remove her shorts. The wizard re-secured his wand and removed all of his clothing before impatiently waving it at her door and enacting a Silencing Charm. He hurled the wand over his shoulder and then yanked her panties down her legs. And then she was naked from the waist down before Harry and something flared in his chest. And then his fingers were prodding and stroking and massaging and Hermione was gasping through his greedy kisses.

And then she could feel him pressing insistently against her and her button was being teased by his finger. And then the witch gave a small shout as he thrust fully into her in one motion. And then Harry groaned because _this_ is where he belonged, and she and any man foolish enough to court her needed to remember this.

He was uncertain if Hermione's cries were due to pleasure or grief while he moved but it was not of much concern to him. Every push into her felt like a tiny victory: against Ron, against Troy. Against the witch's own obstinacy. His strokes were slow yet profound. Harry made sure she felt them- him- and continued to manipulate her body so she was sure to experience a riveting climax. Her sounds got higher in pitch the closer she got and they welcomed him to thrust into her faster. When Hermione did fall over the edge, her nails dug into his chest and she wailed; her walls, that still housed him, beckoned him to join her in physical bliss.

Harry grit his teeth and stopped moving while he waited for her orgasm to subside. Not yet, not for him. He needed this to last longer.

"Get on top, love," he muttered when her pleasure had leveled out. The Muggleborn's brow furrowed as they gazed at each other. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Hermione found herself on top of Harry without him ever leaving her center. Her eyes were covered by a thin sheet of water as she looked down at him and he thought she had never been more beautiful. She still wore her tank top (although it was nicely wrinkled) and she appeared woeful, but the image before him made that something flare in chest again. He started to help her slide against him by holding her waist.

"It's all right," he murmured.

Hermione did not move of her own accord for a short period so Harry kept at it until she eventually took over control. Her body went on autopilot while she rode him but her brain was racing. She could hear him saying things but she was too wrapped in her own thoughts to process his words. She thought of Troy and the man beneath her in equal measure. She thought of betrayal, of things that could have been, of loneliness. Of destroyed hope. The witch thought of the three letters Harry had written to her months ago, of his rant about other men failing her, of who he himself used to be. Her tears were plentiful yet they did not fall, and Hermione shut her eyes after a while and braced her hands on his chest.

Harry watched her covetously as she rocked above him. He had been speaking since he flipped them over and was speaking without a filter.

"I knew he was no good. He didn't deserve you," he rasped as they moved quicker, "You don't need him. You don't need _anyone_. No one but me. It's always been us. I give you what you need. _I_ know you."

A couple whimpers left Hermione as Harry increased their speed even more, grunting while he did so. Right before the wizard hit his peak (an easy feat considering he'd been postponing it since hers), he shot up to a sitting position and clutched her to his chest as he gave two, final strokes and a rugged groan before surrendering to his release.

They were enveloped in the afterglow for 15 minutes. During this refractory period, Harry passively wondered if she was doing anything for contraception that didn't involve the charm, as he had not cast it and doubted that she had (unless she had done so nonverbally and wandlessly). He smiled wryly and thought that a child would most definitely keep Hermione tied to him, although the thought of parenthood was utterly laughable to him. When he at last left her bed to put his clothes back on, he made idle talk about Heathcliff.

"Do you think he'll actually let you alone?" Harry pondered, handing the brunette her panties. She accepted them and languidly pulled them back up her legs while he zipped his jeans.

"He'd better. I don't care what explanation he has because you can't explain that away. I want nothing to do with him." Hermione mentioned.

"Someone should have warned him how ruthless Hermione Granger can be, although he deserves every ounce of it. He brought it on himself."

She did not reply and tried to show a feeble smile but it fell flat. She wanted to return to silence; she was in no mood to talk about Troy.

"Though, I suppose the bint he was involved with has some role in this, too. Everyone knew you two were together so she can't claim ignorance," he continued, "This is why you can't trust blonds! The Malfoys taught us that."

It took a moment for Harry's words to hit her but Hermione narrowed her eyes when they did. Blond? He couldn't be talking about Troy because Troy was not blond… but the woman in the photographs was. Who else could he be talking about... and _how_ would he know she was blonde when Hermione had not commented at all about the other witch?

"Blond?," she prompted, raising her head to peer at him, "Who exactly can't be trusted because they're blond? Surely you don't mean Troy? Because he isn't blond."

Harry stopped moving and was still for a bit, looking at the floor instead of her. When his gaze did meet hers, he was looking at her with an unreadable expression. Hermione felt like her throat was beginning to close up and her instincts were clamoring within her. Something was wrong.

"What blond can't be trusted, Harry?" she inquired, slowly getting off her bed, "Who are you talking about?"

The wizard watched her approach him, his body still frozen. He was railing against himself inside. _How_ could he be so careless in mentioning that, in referring to Gemma?! Something so innocuous? All because he was rambling, too caught up in the feelings of a job well done to not pay attention to what was coming out of his mouth! _Damn_ it! How the hell was he going to clarify this statement?

"Harry! Who are you talking about?!" the witch demanded when she was right in front him. Her countenance was now stormy and his eyes darted all over her face.

"I meant-" he commenced.

But Harry did not get to elaborate on what he meant because his head jerked back in the following instant and a sensation he was all too familiar with engulfed him. Someone was in his mind. _Hermione_ was in his mind.

She was in his mind and aggressively rifling through his most recent memories.

The pure shock kept him rooted, mouth partially agape while she ransacked. Hermione saw everything backwards: Harry watching her leave the Ministry yesterday evening under the protection of the Invisibility Cloak. Harry putting the envelope on her desk late at night while, once again, underneath the Cloak. The blonde woman ( _blonde_!) handing him the photos and the large smile it pulled from him… the kiss on the corner of the mouth he gave as reward. Harry standing in a living room while the blonde set a camera in a specific spot and then practiced Disillusioning it. The blonde giving him updates about the progress she was making with Troy. Harry watching from afar as the blonde (purposely) met Troy for the very first time. And when he asked the blonde during post coital conversation to make a new friend.

The orchestration of the demise of her relationship was all laid out for her through his memories.

Disgust. That is all Hermione felt as she reared back from him, eyes impossibly wide. She was positively _disgusted_ by Harry. Disgusted that he had enacted a plan to destroy someone else's relationship, disgusted that he used his influence over a woman to have her carry it out for him, and disgusted that he would do it to someone so close to him. That he would do it to _her_! And then he had come to her _parents'_ home and pretended that he wanted to support her, only to, to…his groan when he had finished earlier replayed in her mind.

(Hermione's skin crawled. She snapped).

Harry wobbled on his feet and took in gasping breaths as the brunette retreated from his mind in what felt like hardly any time at all. He had been wholly unprepared for the onslaught, which was entirely because he had _no idea_ that she was a Legilimens. He was dumbfounded. When in Merlin's name had she learned that?! His shock was so profound that it overshadowed the fact that Hermione had just discovered the truth.

Consequently, the disgust that enshrouded her brain suddenly gave way to ungodly rage as the reality of what Harry had done settled. A scream tore through her throat and her hair seemed to rise from (and around) her head and she launched herself at him. The witch threw her fists into every part of him that she could while continuing to scream. Jagged scratches soon joined the fierce punches. She beat into his skin and even landed a blow or two to his jaw. Hermione was on a rampage against Harry, aided by her magic, and his bewilderment over the rapid turn of events kept him from doing anything but defensively raising his arms. He was _still_ in shock.

"Hermione," he tried, heart pounding away, speaking at last, "Listen to me!"

An entreaty appeared to be the last thing she wanted, however, for she emitted an ear piercing shriek and pushed him. Her magic turned that push into a blast, and Harry flew back and hit the wall in the hallway, his head snapping against it. (At some point during her raving, Hermione's door had swung open and the Silencing Charm had been nullified). Simon and Darla had just come running up the staircase due to the wrenching screams coming from their daughter when they witnessed the wizard slam into the wall. Darla gasped and covered her mouth with her hands as Harry sagged to the ground. Simon put his hands on her shoulders and gawked at the shirtless young man in slight horror.

Another scream then came spilling from the brunette's room and they attuned to it with stricken expressions on their faces.

"Hermione!" her mother called, making to rush into the room.

Conversely, she stopped when she saw Harry rise to his feet with a wild look on his face. He looked wild overall, actually, and he snarled at the Grangers when he noticed them (which made them freeze) before he turned his gaze back to the room.

" _Accio_ wand!" he barked. His wand hurtled out of Hermione's room and into his hand, and, without shoes, a shirt, or another glance at Simon and Darla, Harry Apparated out of the house with a deafening crack.

The Grangers hurried into their child's room only to find her huddled on the floor. Hermione's arms were wrapped around her legs and she was hunched over; her eyes were closed and she was yelling while tears fell down her cheeks. She was also only dressed in a tank top and her panties, and Simon's eyes widened when he saw her mild indecency. He promptly spun around to give her privacy, which Darla ensured by grabbing a throw blanket and putting it over the witch.

"Hermione, sweet. I'm here. We're here," her mother said, hugging her tightly, "Simon."

Mr. Granger turned back and saw his wife holding their blanket covered daughter. He walked to Hermione's other side and bent down, placing a few kisses on her forehead.

"You're safe now, Bunny," he assured.

Darla hushed the younger woman and they both enveloped her until Hermione's yelling ceased and transformed into sniveling. They were heartbroken for their child. They did not know what happened but that would come later, most likely along with piqued anger for Harry, so their only focus now was to soothe her as best they could.

* * *

Hermione was convinced to take a leave of absence from work by her parents and Ron. The emotional strain from Troy immediately followed by the emotional havoc caused by Harry was too much, they observed, and she needed time and space to cope. Additionally, she had more than enough vacation and sick days _and_ she was Hermione Granger; if she wanted time off, the witch who brought down Voldemort was entitled to it.

So she took her leave from the Ministry and did it quietly. And she grieved and she seethed and she wept during this period and she was weighed down with regret for so many things. And the mention of anything to do with Harry Potter was enough to set her off into one of these states.

Hermione most of her time with her parents, Ron, and the Weasleys. She was not alone often and when she was it was never at her apartment; she would lounge at her childhood house, Ron's and George's apartment, Ginny's apartment, or the Burrow when the homes' occupants were gone. Ron never asked why she would not stay at her apartment by herself but he did not have to- he knew that Hermione did not want to be there on her own in case _Harry_ were to show up.

Ron threatened to kill Harry when he discovered what the dark haired wizard had done and he halfway meant it. Hermione pleaded with him to not confront Harry because she did not want to give him an invitation to come back or attempt to contact her. He had been blessedly silent since that fateful night and she did not want to disturb that. Hermione confided in Ron late one night at the Burrow, nine days after the incident, that she would be unable to handle seeing Harry's face.

"I'm afraid, Ron. I'm afraid right now," the brunette relayed, curled in an armchair, "I'm afraid I'll see him somewhere or he'll be at your flat one day, or here at your parents'. I'm afraid he's watching or following me under that _damn_ Cloak when I go out… I'm just afraid. I don't know what I'd do if I see him."

The red head's face contorted in pain at her admission.

"It's not even that I'm afraid h-he'll attack me or retaliate, but it's the fear that this will never end. That he'll… keep coming back to me. That he won't let me live my life without him. And I know I will _have_ to see him eventually. I have to return to work at some point, I have to live in my flat again." Hermione stated before a long interval of silence befell them.

"I reckon you're right," Ron mentioned in a morose voice, "He _won't_ let you go, and I hate to say it. I hate that it's probably true. He's quiet now but it's not likely to stay that way forever." She nodded and felt a lump rise in her throat.

"I don't want to feel trapped but I do. I feel like I'm going to go mad- truly mad. I'm dreading having to resume my life!"

He swallowed and stared at the carpet, resenting what he was about to say but knowing he had to. He took some time before vocalizing his words, which suited Hermione just fine because it permitted her to fight off a wave of tears.

"Who says you have to resume it here?" Ron wondered.

"What?" she uttered, looking at him. He met her gaze.

"Hermione, you can get away. You _should_ get away. Who says you have to stay here, in England? Yes, your family and friends are here but so is _he_ , and we've both just said he won't give you up so easily. We'd understand if you left. We want you to be okay so we'd understand! And it doesn't have to be permanent… you can come back. But I don't think it's good for you to be here right now. Not like this."

The witch appeared at a loss. She was quiet while she considered the option he presented.

"Leave?" she mumbled. Ron quickly got on the floor before her and grabbed her hands.

"You've always said yes to Harry. And if you stay… I worry he'll find some way, manipulate you somehow!, to keep you saying yes. It could just be that he wears you down with time!," he shared, "Even when you cut him off because of his reaction to Troy, you let him stay when he came to your parents in the days after it ended. That was saying yes, Hermione. You _can't_ keep saying yes to him."

She averted her eyes from the red head's imploring ones. Tears sprung up and this time she did not stop them if they wanted to fall. Hermione wanted to be offended by what Ron had said. She wanted to be upset with his assertion that she always said yes to Harry but she knew she could not… because he was right. She _did_ always say yes to Harry, in some form, and, if she kept it up, she would damage herself beyond repair...

… and Harry surely would not be there to help fix her.

* * *

One month.

It had been almost one month since the debacle with Hermione and almost one month since Harry retreated back into himself. He stopped going out (having Kreacher see to most of the necessary errands that required a jaunt beyond the neighborhood), spent far too much time wrapped in his thoughts, and became reunited with alcohol as his primary companion.

Little else marched through Harry's brain besides his last interaction with Hermione (and how horribly wrong it had gone). He had never seen the brunette react that way to _anything_. He had been rooted to the spot from his astonishment, leaving him a prime target for her ambush. (The wizard even had a small scar on his left shoulder to serve as a constant reminder of her rageful fit). And that violent attack was _after_ she had used Legilimency on him! Hermione was a _Legilimens_! Why on Earth had Harry been unaware of this?! Out of the innumerable conversations they'd had since he'd accepted her back in his life (most of which _she_ had led!), why had she never once brought up the fact that she possessed this skill! However, there was also a part of Harry that pointed out that perhaps… perhaps if he had been more invested in those conversations, more engaged and interested, then Hermione may have revealed this truth (secret).

But the fact of the matter was the witch had had the _gall_ to use this ability on him. On _him_! When she knew more than anyone his history with and feelings about people invading his mind! It infuriated him, but that same part of Harry also noted that she would not have done it if _he_ had not ruined everything and made the offhand remark about Gemma's hair. It was his fault, really; it was his fault and it had imploded splendidly and it had rattled him in the process.

Because the entire ordeal _had_ rattled Harry. It may have explained the two nightmares he had during that month, one where Hermione died and one where he died from poison at Hermione's hand. He envisioned the storm in her eyes when she had screamed and pummeled him, recalled how her hair floated around her like Medusa more times than he could count during that month. And he definitely remembered the look on her face after she discovered what he had done.

Harry could not leave it like this. He could not have his last memory of (and with) Hermione be that. He could not. He _would_ not. He… he would have to reach out. He would have to try to make her see, he would have to repair the split in their seam. The wizard knew there was nothing he could do for her or give to her to address the fracture, and knew it would come down to explaining. Saying. _Talking_. But Harry would do it because he could not leave things like this. Hermione would come to understand his reasoning and actions, and if he had to apologize for some things then so be it, but she _would_ come around. Harry just needed the chance.

Once he decided to re-engage her, he chose to do so at the Ministry because it would be common ground and less threatening for her. However, after watching out for Hermione for three days in a row (disguised under a Glamour Charm) and not seeing her anywhere in the government building, Harry became bothered. Where was she? He approached a reception witch in the brunette's department on the fourth day to get an answer to this question, and the answer he received was numbing.

"Ms. Granger resigned about two weeks ago now," the woman relayed with a small frown as the color left Harry's morphed face, "She took a leave and then resigned. It's such a shame! She was exceptional. She'll be missed."

When Harry asked if she had gotten another position within the Ministry or outside of it, the witch replied she did not know and he left immediately thereafter for his new destination: Hermione's apartment. _Resigned. Where is she? She resigned!_ was the mantra in his head when he arrived at her front door, and it only took him a second to remind himself that he was a wizard and could get inside without too much strain if he so desired. And he certainly did.

Accordingly, what Harry found inside made his wand clatter to the ground as he turned in one full circle to stare at his surroundings.

Nothing. There was nothing in the apartment.

It was bare.

Waiting until the evening bloomed were some of the most aggravating hours of Harry's life. He muttered anxiously to himself, he could not sit still for all of his gold in Gringotts, and his hands were shaky messes that had lives of their own; they jumped from his hair to gripping furniture fabric to breaking objects. It was a mini hell but he had to wait until the evening because that is when (he assumed) Simon and Darla Granger would be home from work, and he needed them to be home when he visited. It was crucial.

As it were, the Grangers were home when Harry appeared on their front porch with crazy hair and a disgruntled expression. He rang the bell but began pounding on the door excessively when they did not answer his call in a timely manner. The reason for the lag was because the couple had been arguing over what to do about his presence, with Mr. Granger wanting to ignore him or even call the police and Mrs. Granger insisting that they had to speak to him one final time at Hermione's request. Darla was the one to get her way and opened the door before the wizard could knock it off the hinges.

However, she did not open it fully and did not invite him in, and from the way she and her husband were standing in their entryway, it was evident they were not going to let him in their home.

"Harry," she curtly stated.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked, gazing between them and not bothering with pretense. The Grangers peered at each other and Darla unconsciously closed the door a tad more.

"Where is Hermione?!" Harry repeated, snapping at them.

"You have no right to know!" Simon asserted, glowering at the younger man. He did not care if this person knew magic and could easily harm him, and he was vaguely aware that Harry could barge inside without difficulty if he really wanted and they could not stop him. But all he could see now was the person who had broken his daughter down and left her screaming on the floor in her underwear.

"Tell me where she is!"

"She's gone, Harry!" Darla claimed. She cut across her husband to prevent him from escalating the situation and antagonizing the young man further.

"What do you mean gone? Where!" Harry prompted.

"Gone. She's just… gone. Here."

Mrs. Granger handed him a folded piece of Muggle paper and he took it, brow furrowed. He opened it and saw that it was a letter. From Hermione.

All of the anger quickly left his system.

"She left. She… she isn't here anymore," Darla slowly remarked, "You, you should stop coming over. Hermione is gone. We can't do anything for you, Harry."

His heart had stopped as he stared at the paper.

"And we _won't_. I wouldn't tell you where Hermione is even if you tortured me for it." Simon added in a menacing voice.

Harry looked up at them, then- at Hermione's parents- but the door was being shut in his face. The last thing he saw was Darla's pitying gaze before it closed entirely.

Harry took the couple steps down the porch with an unsteady gait. He slumped down somewhere and peered out into the neighborhood, where he blankly watched a mother helping her young son exit the white car she had just been driving. He stared into the darkened sky until something brought him back to reality and reminded him of the letter in his hands. Gulping, he smoothed it out with slightly shaking hands before starting in.

Hermione's message filled the entire length of the page. He read it four times and, every round, certain words stood out starkly amongst the rest that seemed blurred. _Afraid… constant tears… deserve more… unforgivable... escape this… drown with you… you need_ help _… wanted so much more for you…._

It all came down to the last two lines for Harry, conversely. He read those over and over until they were burned into his retina and he would see them even with his eyes squeezed shut. (Which they currently were, and he was currently biting into a closed fist on the verge of drawing blood to keep from shouting loud enough to draw out the Grangers' neighbors).

 _I never thought my love for you would turn into a nightmare._

 _Goodbye, Harry._

And it was in the front yard of the house that had belonged to her parents for 23 years that everything, all at once, came crashing down on him.

* * *

A/N: Hermione went to Canada, in case anyone is curious. I envisioned her going for the foreseeable future but not indefinitely. _Also_ , for an additional twist of the knife to the gut, I toyed with the idea of writing a tiny epilogue set a number of weeks after Harry finds out she left, where Hermione is crying on the bathroom floor of her Canadian apartment, clutching a positive pregnancy test :)

Anyway, Harry is despicable in this fic. I know. But it's finally done and complete and now I can go back to writing my happier, healthier Harmony stories!


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